The Science of Deduction
by ifinallylearnthowtolie
Summary: Life between cases. The detective and the doctor work together to learn how the other works. But some things they discover are not what they had expected. Wasn't Watson straight? And wasn't Holmes married to his work? Slow to begin with, sorry.
1. The staring thing

_**A/N: **_**Hello there. Thanks for bothering to click on this. And if you're actually reading _this _part of the page, I'm amazed, you brilliant person! **

**This is, of course, a _Sherlock_ story involving Sherlock and Watson discovering a relationship they had not imagined. **

**I own nothing and make no profits. **

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John eased himself into a seat with a sigh, distracting Sherlock enough to make him run a hand through his hair and look over.

"You still keep that charade, Watson. Why?" Holmes asked, spinning around to face Watson with a genuinely interested look on his face.

"Can't you tell me?" John teased, resting his cane against the arm of his chair and cocking an eyebrow.

"I could, but where's the fun in that?" Holmes grinned. John rolled his eyes and massaged his aching shoulder. It concerned Sherlock that John hadn't been taking his painkillers.

"What?" John asked.

"Hm?" Sherlock jumped slightly.

"You were doing it again- the staring thing." John replied vaguely. Holmes blinked and nodded.

"Ah, yes, the staring thing." Sherlock mumbled.

"Are you tired or something?" John suggested, frowning in confusion. Oh how trivial it must be to be confused, Sherlock mused.

"Hm?" He asked, not catching the question.

"Seriously, get some sleep or something." Watson told him. Sherlock shook his head and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a much needed Nicotine patch. He ignored Watson's disapproving look and peeled it open, sighing with relief when he stuck it on his arm.

"All fixed." He smiled goofily.

"How many now?" Watson muttered.

"Four, not that it's anything for you to worry about." Holmes replied airily. Watson scowled. Ah, Holmes had hit a nerve. "So you do worry, John." Holmes concluded, smiling triumphantly. Watson blushed and scowled harder at Holmes.

"If you're just going to take the piss, I'm going to bed." John replied darkly.

"Sorry, sorry. Actually, I wanted to ask you something." Sherlock's eyes dropped to his shoes for an awkward moment.

"Hit me." John shrugged.

"I recall you saying you were shot in the shoulder. Being myself, I naturally made you someone on my list of people I should observe. It seems you didn't lie to me but tell me, if you don't mind, where exactly were you shot?" Sherlock asked. John blinked. That sentence came out very quickly. Sherlock noticed the hesitation but read it wrong. "Sorry, John. I shouldn't ask. Curiosity killed the cat and all that."

"No, no. It's fine. I, uh. It went through here-" Watson motioned to the back of his shoulder "-and came out somewhere around here." he pointed to the general direction of his collar bone.

"The reason that you struggle with simple activities. The bullet must have sliced the muscles beyond complete repair."

"Yes, exactly, thanks." John forced a smile. Mentally, Sherlock bellowed at himself. If he had any chance becoming friends with this man, he should remember that John had _feelings_. He should know not to bring up painful memories.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered.

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_**A/N:**_** So, what do you think? Please review and give me some feedback or something so I can make it a bit less crappy... Ta much :)**


	2. Coffee is replaceable

_**A/N:**_** Hello again. Somehow I have managed to upload chapter two! **

**Hope it's not too disappointing, 'cos yet again, not much happens.**

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When John awoke the next morning any sense of bitterness he had felt towards his colleague was forgotten. He rolled out of bed, pulling on a vest that lay on the floor by his bed. He was not sure if Holmes was comfortable with a topless man in his flat. With a yawn, he shuffled from his room and into the kitchen.

"'Morning." Sherlock greeted him cautiously.

"Hullo." John smiled, making a bee-line for the coffee machine. The second it was on, he turned and leant on the counter and looked over at Sherlock. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa, topless, and drawing on his arm. Holmes noticed the look he was getting and smiled.

"Just testing a theory." he assured Watson.

"Of course." John nodded. "How long have you been up?"

"Something around four hours." Sherlock mused.

"Four hours?"

"Indeed. I left my room at four thirty." Sherlock nodded.

"Are you tired?"

"Not at all. Are you?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah, I haven't had a coffee." John grinned. The machine bleeped and Watson poured a large mug. "You want one?"

"No. Caffeine is a drug." Sherlock shivered dramatically. John nearly choked on his coffee.

"So is Nicotine!"

"Nicotine is an essential." Sherlock frowned. John rolled his eyes and sank into the chair opposite Holmes.

"What are you drawing?" John asked after a long pause.

"A tattoo. I think." Sherlock replied, adding another detail with a flick of his wrist.

"Can I see?"

"If you want to." Sherlock shrugged. John eased himself out of the chair and walked over. On the detective's arm was an intricate design made up of stars, swirls and other strange images. It began on the back of his hand and currently ended somewhere on his shoulder. John raised his eyebrows.

"And that was a theory?" He asked. "Some pictures?"

"I wondered if you could map out the galaxy on your arm." Sherlock confessed.

"You know the map of the entire galaxy?" John asked.

"I do." Sherlock nodded. It was true; Sherlock had been required to learn the most recent map of the galaxy for a certain case a while ago. And like elephants, Sherlock never forgot. "Do you realise that _you_ are doing the staring thing now?" Sherlock added with a grin. John started and stood up.

"Oh." He muttered.

"The coffee is probably cold." Sherlock mused, noting how the milk in Watson's mug had split.

"Oh." John muttered again, walking into the kitchen and dumping it down the sink.

"Did that upset you?" Sherlock asked. However brilliant he was, Sherlock did not understand people. It seemed that he had, indeed, upset Watson as the man refused eye contact and was turned away.

"Not at all. I just wanted that coffee." John replied, turning back to Holmes.

"Good, good. Coffee is replaceable." Sherlock smiled.

"So it is."

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**_A/N:_ So _did_ you like it? Please review and tell me!**


	3. Homemade explosive

_**A/N:**_** Progress! Aha! **

**I apologise for that...**

**Enjoy chapter 3 :)**

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John jumped as the oven exploded, sending Sherlock flying across the kitchen. He ran over but Sherlock was already standing again with a grin on his face.

"It worked. Just not very well." Sherlock told him. John ran a hand through his hair and then placed it on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Please don't do that. At least, not anything so explosive." John requested. Sherlock clapped a hand on John's shoulder.

"I suppose I could take it down a notch, what with your experiences in Afghanistan-" Watson flinched- "ah. I'm sorry." Not knowing what else to do, Sherlock pulled John awkwardly into a one-armed hug. John, not sure how to react, stood perfectly still until Sherlock released him.

"Uh. Thank you." John murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. Sherlock simply shrugged. So that was how you consoled someone. Sure, Sherlock had seen it done, but never actually felt the need to hug anybody. His mother had hugged him, but she had also hugged Mycroft, so it didn't count. Hugging was strange- and warm- Sherlock decided. Maybe that's why people liked being hugged? People liked to be warm. Sherlock liked to be warm. Warm was good. Hugs were good. Sherlock looked up.

"Staring thing?" He asked.

"Yup." John nodded. Sherlock pulled a face and walked back over to the oven.

"Not good enough." He commented.

"What were you doing?" John sighed.

"Home-made explosive. A mixture of my stash of gunpowder and some… Other things." Sherlock explained. John groaned.

"What other things?" He asked.

"I can't recall." Sherlock smirked. John supposed that he couldn't get too angry because Sherlock had warned him about his experiments. At least this one didn't smell as bad as the eyes in the microwave disaster.

"Are you going to clean it up?" John hoped the answer was yes.

"No. I'm sure Mrs Hudson would love the challenge." Sherlock replied. To call it a challenge was an understatement. Black marks stained the counters and the floor near the oven. The oven itself was full of some mixture too foul to describe.

"Of course." John mumbled, leaving the kitchen and sitting himself down.

"So, what take-away should we get?" Sherlock called.

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_**A/N:**_ **So I finally got a hug in there... Please Review and let me know if it's any good.**


	4. Rope in the roof

_**A/N:**_** Would you look at that? Chapter four already! **

**Honestly, it's the quickest I've written anything. **

**Sorry, not being very modest there...**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

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John had picked up a Chinese on the way home. He knew what Holmes wanted. A number 3, a number 14, a number 25 and two number 40's. John had memorised that within the third week of staying with Holmes. As he walked through the door he was greeted by Holmes hanging from a rope that dangled through a hole in the ceiling.

"Ah, food." Sherlock smiled, letting go and dropping- not far, he was much too tall to even fall far enough to twist an ankle- to the floor. The detective took the bag off of John and removed his own food before dumping it on the table.

"I got your usual." Watson assured him.

"Good." Sherlock nodded, sitting on the sofa and ripping off the lids on his food. He threw them on the floor and attacked the food. Watson suppressed a sigh and sorted out his own food.

"So, what's with the rope in the roof?" John asked as he sat.

"It's not in the roof, Watson, it's in the ceiling. Surely you are not _that_ dim." Sherlock retorted around a mouthful.

"Why is there a rope through the _ceiling_?" John asked, rolling his eyes.

"The question is, dear Watson, why wasn't there before?" Sherlock replied.

"Because it isn't normal." John muttered.

"Am _I_ normal?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Fair point." John replied reluctantly. He squinted up into the hole in the ceiling. It went into his room. Damn it. "You've been in my room." He accused.

"I needed a pen." Sherlock defended himself. "And then I needed a hole." He added.

"Did you go through my stuff?" John asked.

"Everything bar your underwear draw." Sherlock assured him. John groaned.

"I swear I'll put a lock on the door." He threatened.

"And you think that would stop me from getting in?" Sherlock chuckled. John scowled and found himself suddenly loosing his appetite.

"Are you done?" He asked. Sherlock nodded and John collected the containers up and threw them away. As he turned back around, he was attacked by Sherlock's shoulder in his face and long arms wrapping around him. Sherlock grinned as he released John.

"Thanks for the food." He told John.

"Uh, no problem." John replied quietly. Since when had Sherlock been the hugging type? And why did he hug John for the smallest of things?

"Hugs are good, right?" Sherlock asked. John shifted awkwardly. It was like talking to a child, explaining the things that were common knowledge to most. Except this was no child. This was the smartest man in existence. At least, the smartest man in existance that John knew.

"Sometimes. It's a bit weird, though, if you hug people too much." John explained.

"Due to social prejudices, correct? You do realise that nobody can see through walls don't you, John?" Sherlock frowned, leaning against the counter and giving John a once-over.

"What is that supposed to mean?" John asked.

"Why do you keep deflecting questions with questions?" Sherlock smirked.

"Why do you?" John smiled.

"Touché." Sherlock sniggered. There was a tense pause. A tense pause in which John desperately fought with himself to stop himself from asking a certain question that was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"When you said you were married to your work…" John trailed off awkwardly. Damn. The smile fell from Holmes' face.

"I meant it John; I'm not flirting with you." Sherlock assured the doctor. Or was he trying to assure himself? People, Sherlock decided, were much more confusing than they ought to be.

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_**A/N:**_** Any good? Please review and tell me, because otherwise I think you all hate it :)**


	5. Industrial meat freezer

_**A/N: **_**Chapter 5... This one will lead on to the next... **

**I know it's horrible.**

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It had been just under two weeks now. Sherlock had left for a case that 'did not require John's idiocy' and not returned. Lestrade had heard nothing and neither had Anderson. Not that Sherlock would ever call Anderson, but it was worth a try. John had made it three days before he began to panic...

On the 13th day, John lowered himself into the chair that he had moved opposite their door and pulled the newspaper from his coat.

'_Father of Four Arrested for Six Horrific Murders.'_ was the cover story. It looked pretty dull. Most things that didn't revolve around Sherlock were pretty dull. Life in the past two weeks had been unbearably dull. No Sherlock around to simply utter the word 'danger' and have John following him like an excitable puppy. It was horrible. And John hadn't just missed the thrill of the chase. He'd missed a friend.

So when the door crashed open and a very tall body fell through, John launched out of the chair.

"John. Would you mind-" Sherlock's voice was cut off by a hacking cough. John was by his side instantly. Sherlock was soaking wet and smelt like a butchers shop. He was shaking, hard. Going straight into doctor-mode, John recognised that Sherlock was in the early stages of Hypothermic Shock.

"Sherlock, when I say this, I mean it only for your health. I need you to strip." John told Sherlock. Sherlock mumbled something incoherently and John's stomach lurched. That wasn't good. As quickly as he could, he removed the wet clothing from Sherlock. Luckily, his boxers were dry, saving Sherlock some dignity. John led Sherlock to the Sofa and laid him down.

"That…not necessary…" Sherlock grumbled. John ignored him.

"Mrs Hudson!" John bellowed. "Mrs Hudson!" Footsteps on the stairs alerted him to the landlady's presence.

"John, dear- Oh, Sherlock, you're home-"

"Mrs Hudson! Sherlock is very, very close to dying. I need you to get me every available duvet in the house, every blanket, every hot water bottle and bring them up here." John explained as calmly as he could. He was desperately panicked.

"Oh goodness." Mrs Hudson gasped, running from the room.

"John-" a groan, followed by another cough cut Sherlock off.

"You'll be okay, I swear." John called, running up to his room. He grabbed a pair of jogging bottoms and a thick woollen jumper and some of his winter socks before running back down and gently sliding them onto Sherlock. Mrs Hudson had deposited the duvets and blankets on the floor and John carefully wrapped them around his friend. John then lifted Sherlock carefully and slid underneath him. Donating heat to a person with Hypothermia was vital.

"I'm cold." Sherlock slurred.

"Yes you are. Where _were_ you?" John asked, Sherlock's curls in his face. Sherlock groaned.

"Industrial meat freezer." Sherlock told him.

"For two weeks?"

"Just about."

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_**A/N: **_**Part one of this bit... Any good? Please tell me :)**


	6. Hypothermic Shock

_**A/N:**_** Part 2 of Industrial Meat Freezer. **

**Very short, but leads on to part three...**

**So I guess it's important. **

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Sherlock had relaxed completely into John. John had discovered that he had lost feeling below his stomach. It had amused him for a while. Now it was just annoying. But Sherlock seemed to have warmed up quite substantially. He had stopped shivering and his breathing had calmed. Sherlock's pulse had actually begun to show after an hour or so. John had nearly fallen asleep at one point, but thankfully Sherlock muttered in his sleep. John couldn't fall asleep. Holmes' life depended on it. Every forty five minutes John had to take the detective's pulse and in the early hours, he'd had to remove the cold hot water bottles which was pretty awkward to do, being under Sherlock's dead weight.

"Why am I laying on top of you, John?" Sherlock asked, shocking John enough to make them both jolt.

"You're awake." John stated.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed, attempting to sit up. John constricted his arms around Sherlock and eventually Sherlock gave up.

"You're not well. Lay down." John ordered. Sherlock wiggled stubbornly.

"I dislike this." He told John.

"I apologise for keeping you alive, then." John snapped.

"You… What?" Sherlock asked. John frowned.

"Do you remember last night?" He asked.

"No."

"Oh."

"What did I do?" Sherlock frowned.

"You stumbled into the house soaking wet and freezing cold. I was up all night treating you for Hypothermic Shock." John explained.

"Hypothermic Shock."

"Quite severe." John nodded. His stubble scratched Sherlock's neck.

"Waitrose industrial meat freezer. Ah. Damn the French." Sherlock muttered, remembering what had happened.

"Damn the French?" John repeated, confused.

"French idiot didn't check if anyone was in his freezer." Sherlock clarified.

"Oh. I see." John lied.

"You're quite comfortable." Sherlock noted.

"Thank you." John dismissed the comment. "How do you feel?"

"Perfect. Absolutely great. Now, I need a shower." Sherlock lied, attempting to get up. John locked his arms again and Sherlock thumped back against his chest with a growl.

"If you have to wash, it'll have to be a bath and I'll have to make sure you don't drown." John sighed. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. Even he could smell the stench of a butchers shop on his skin. He _needed_ a wash.

"Fine." Sherlock sighed. If John had to be there for him to be washed, so be it.

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_**A/N:**_** It's short and terrible but it leads on to the awkward fun of part 3. Tell me whatcha think :P**


	7. Only had to ask

_**A/N: **_**I have 2 things to say before you read this chapter... **

**1) In chapter 2 (Coffee is replaceable) Sherlock draws the map of the Galaxy on his arm. I wrote this before _The Great Game_ was aired and I therefore did not know that Sherlock has no knowledge of space and such things... My apologies there.**

**2) There may be a brief (2 week) gap before I update next... I will try to update asap but I am only human! I have inter-family babysitting duties and I am going on holiday also. Therefore, I may not be able to update... I will honestly try to before Friday... I'M SORRY!**

**I hope you like this chapter enough to not hate me...**

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Sherlock sidled nervously into the bathroom with just a towel protecting his decency. John looked up from his seat on the closed toilet seat and blushed.

"Um." John murmured, scratching his neck nervously. Sherlock frowned.

"Must you watch me? Can I not just shout if I'm drowning?" Sherlock asked.

"I doubt you would be able to shout." John smiled slightly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved to the side of the tub. John turned away and allowed Sherlock to get into the tub without being exposed. As soon as Sherlock had slipped into the heavenly warm water, John turned back, keeping his eyes strictly on Sherlock's face.

"Any news from Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, attempting to break through the tense silence in the room.

"No. He was just as amazed as me that you managed to survive as long as you did." John shrugged.

"Why would he be surprised? I'm amazing, there's no need to worry." Sherlock frowned. It tool John a moment to realise that he was serious.

"How long were you in there?" John asked.

"Twelve days, more or less." Sherlock shrugged.

"What temperature was it at?"

"Around minus ten degrees. It did seem to get colder, but it must have been my body reacting. Naturally, I lost most of my bodily functions, including minor brain activity. I must have been functioning somewhat on your level. It was rather amusing." Sherlock explained.

"You should be dead. You should have died before I heated you up." John gaped.

"Don't be ridiculous. I was perfectly fine." Sherlock dismissed him. "Now, I seem to smell much better. Can I get out please?"

"Wow. You said please." John teased.

"I am rather desperate."

"Sure, get out." John waved a hand, turning his head and closing his eyes. He hoped Sherlock didn't notice the curious peek he wished he hadn't taken.

"John?"

"Yes?" John flushed.

"You're blocking the door." Sherlock replied. John let out the relieved sigh he did not know he had been holding and jumped up.

"Sorry, sorry." He mumbled, letting them both out. In the hallway Sherlock brushed past John.

"By the way, you only had to ask." Sherlock turned and winked before swiftly ducking into his room and shutting the door.

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_**A/N:**_** Hope you liked it, even though it was painfully short. Please review, 'cos then I might be able to get another chapter in before Friday ;) **


	8. The greater good

_**A/N: **_**Somehow... I managed to get this out.**

**It is NOT linked to the last three chapters.**

**It's a bit different. Hope it's okay.**

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The taxi ride home had been tense and uncomfortable. John, still in shock, had refused any assistance on Holmes' part. The gash above John's eye had been stitched in the ambulance as Holmes hovered by, dismissing Lestrade, Anderson and all the other brainless members of the Police force. And when the two had returned to the flat and shut the door, Sherlock could tell that John was about to explode.

"Before you-"

"Why did you choose me? There were _children_, Sherlock. There were _small_ children in that room. You could have saved thirteen people, damn you!" John bellowed, throwing down his coat.

"There is a good reason-"

"Nothing you say will justify what you did." John snapped.

"I know that-"

"Then what could you possibly say? You had the chance to prove everyone wrong. You had a chance to be a good man, Holmes. Why would you choose me?" John cried, slamming his hands on the back of a chair. Sherlock stood perfectly still. John would not understand his reasons. John was a good man. John had a conscience. John had morals.

"You think it wasn't hard for me to choose." It was a statement, not a question. Sherlock could tell that John understood this by the flinch.

"You shouldn't have had to choose." John replied. Sherlock could feel the glare in the eyes he could not bare to meet. He had disappointed John again.

"Of course I had to choose." Sherlock retorted quietly. It had been such a hard decision. There had been people in that room so smart that they could change the world. But in the other room was his only friend. How could he have not had to choose?

"The greater good, Holmes. Have you never heard of it? You choose the option that would be better for everyone." John replied darkly.

"I chose the greater good, John. I did. You just don't realise it yet." Sherlock mumbled.

"Don't try and make yourself believe that! What good am I? I'm an army doctor who can't even save lives. I'm a cripple. I can't change the world." John shouted.

"Yes you can." Sherlock breathed. John looked up.

"What?"

"You can change the world, John. You probably will, because you are _good_. You're a good person." Sherlock stated.

"What is this? A prep talk? What is _wrong_ with you?" John hissed. Sherlock took a deep breath. He could not convince John that his decision was the correct one. He would not be able to convince anyone else. Who would save boring old John Watson when the smartest people in England were at stake? Sherlock would. Nobody else would.

"I did it because I am selfish, John. I did it because I wanted to save you. I wanted to save someone close to me rather than a room full of strangers. If that makes you hate me then so be it." Sherlock explained.

"I- I'm close to you?" John asked. Sherlock started.

"Yes, of course." He frowned.

"That is why you chose me?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. John paused and contemplated the information. Sherlock waited patiently. And then John moved from behind the sofa and walked towards Holmes. Sherlock prepared himself for a swing to the face and was completely shocked to be wrapped in a desperately tight hug. He was less shocked when John began to sob against his chest. Sherlock was completely expecting it when his arms wrapped around Watson and patted the smaller man's back gently.

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_**A/N: **_**Did you like it? I know it's a bit... Depressing? I don't know. Please tell me what you think.**


	9. Get comfortable

_**A/N: **_**If you haven't already noticed, I'm trying my hardest to get as many chapters out as possible before I go on holiday...**

**And this is the longest so far :)**

**Hope you like it... It was a bit wierd to write- I didn't like it so much...**

**It's broken up by them line thingies because it's set in 3 different times of the day.**

* * *

Something was on fire. John could smell it.

"Damn it, Holmes. What now?" He called.

"Nothing to worry about, John. An insignificant little thing is on fire. Ouch!" Sherlock replied from somewhere.

"You okay?" John asked.

"Yes, fine. Ouch. Nothing at all to worry about. But would you mind sending the hose up through the hole in the ceiling?" Sherlock called.

"You're in my room?" John paused. "Something is on fire in my room?"

"Yes."

"Shit." John groaned, jumping up from his seat and running to the window. He climbed out onto the fire exit and quickly navigated the stairs. At the bottom, he grabbed the hose, turned it on, and sprinted back up. Through the window, around the chair and he was feeding the hose through the ceiling, soaking himself.

"Aha, thank you John." Sherlock called. John didn't go upstairs. He didn't want to know what was going on. After a few minutes, the hose dropped back through the hole. "All fixed!" Sherlock promised. John ran the hose back down and dreaded facing his room. As he climbed back through the window, John was faced with Sherlock holding John's pillow. It was completely destroyed.

"My bed." John stated.

"I'll buy you a new one." Sherlock promised.

"You set fire to my bed."

"I promise. The best bed on the market." Sherlock continued.

"You went into my room and set fire to my bed."

"The curtains were not tempting enough." Sherlock reasoned.

"So you set fire to my bed."

"Yes." Sherlock admitted.

"Right." John nodded. He then calmly grabbed his jacket and left the flat. Sherlock smirked and ran up the stairs. The clean up operation was already in progress. Sherlock's homeless minions were already sorting out a new bed and Johnty, Flick and Scar were climbing through John's window that second.

"Good morning, Mister Holmes."

"Gentlemen." Sherlock nodded. The men got to work breaking the burnt out bed apart and throwing the pieces out the window.

* * *

When John got home, Sherlock was sitting in the chair opposite the door with a smirk.

"What?" John asked. He had barely forgiven Sherlock yet.

"Nothing." Sherlock lied. John sighed and dumped a bag of shopping on the table.

"I got milk. Have you found me a bed yet?" John muttered.

"It'll be here in two days." Sherlock nodded. He had never been one to use the internet when there were other perfectly good resources available, but time was of the essence here.

"Then where do I sleep until I get the bed?" John exclaimed.

"My bed." Sherlock shrugged. "It's a double." He added. John gaped.

"You're actually serious." John stated. Sherlock nodded.

"It's that or the kitchen table." He shrugged.

"What about the sofa?"

"The skull sleeps there."

"I thought Mrs Hudson hid him." John frowned.

"She did."

* * *

John stood in front of Sherlock's bedroom door. Was he really respecting the fact that a skull slept on the sofa? Yes, he was. But he couldn't quite force himself to walk into Holmes' room.

"It's been five minutes John; make up your mind already. You're thinking too loud." Sherlock called. Damn. John finally took a lurching step forward and opened the door. Sherlock was hanging out the window with his phone balancing on his head.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Pilates."

"You're doing it wrong." John informed Sherlock.

"The best way to do it. Make yourself comfortable, I'll be done in a minute." Sherlock called. John sat on the corner of the bed. Sherlock's room was surprisingly clean, if you counted actually being able to see two feet of floor clean. Sherlock plonked back through the window and grinned.

"Did you like Pilates?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Invigorating, when done out a window. Otherwise ridiculously boring." Sherlock reported.

"Nice." John smiled. Sherlock sunk down next to him and sighed.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked. John frowned, took the phone from Sherlock's head and flicked it open.

"Half one. And this is my phone." John replied, pocketing the phone, much to Sherlock's irritation.

"Good. Would you like to sleep now?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged.

"If you want." He murmured.

"Right then." Sherlock stood up and climbed into one side of the bed. John copied.

"You owe me so much for this." John told Sherlock, laying tensely on the very edge of the bed.

"I'm sure I do. Get comfortable, would you? You're irritating me. If this is because of social prejudices, I may have to hit you." Sherlock replied, rolling to look at John with a smirk. John relaxed a little. Sherlock sighed and wrapped an arm around John's waist.

"What are you-" John asked, but Sherlock cut him off by dragging him further onto the mattress and then feigning falling asleep instantly. John only realised that the arm was still draped across him as he sank into unconciousness…

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_**A/N: **_**Did you like it? Like I said, I don't really like this one... Let me know what you thought!**


	10. I lied

**_A/N:_ Shortest chapter so far, sorry. Bad day. **

**Leads on from the last one...**

**Hope it's okay.**

* * *

John awoke with something unusual tucked into his neck and something across his waist. It was warm and soft. It was Sherlock. It was now the second morning of this and today, they were both topless for some bizarre reason. Oh yes, it was much too hot last night.

"Get off of me." John groaned. Sherlock groaned too but didn't move. "Sherlock! Off me now." John barked. Sherlock jumped, but didn't move.

"No." He muttered.

"Come on. I'll make you tea." John promised.

"No milk."

"I'll run to the shop." John offered.

"It's raining."

"I'll get a taxi." John sighed.

"No. You're warm." Sherlock muttered. John groaned and shoved Sherlock, hard. Sherlock rolled and carried on rolling until he dropped to the floor. He then jumped up and grinned, hair covering his eyes.

"Come on, up. I'll even make you tea." Sherlock called.

"You said that there was no milk."

"I lied." Sherlock smirked, swiping the hair from his eyes and lurching from the room. John rubbed a hand across his eyes and rolled himself out of bed. Since when had he become comfortable with waking up with another man hugging him, topless? The answer was simple: Since he had met Sherlock. He shuffled from the room and into the havoc of the living room.

"Where's the skull?" John asked, noticing that it was not on the sofa.

"Mrs Hudson took it." Sherlock replied, disgruntled. John frowned suspiciously.

"When did she take it?"

"Yesterday, while we were out." Sherlock told him. John gaped.

"I could have slept on the sofa!" He accused.

"Yes, you could have. But admit it, it's much better waking up to me than waking up to backache." Sherlock grinned.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Is it okay? Please tell me what you think! Sorry it's so short.**


	11. The catapult

_**A/N:**_** I go on holiday tomorrow for 10 days... So I had to try desperately to get this chapter out.**

**Hope you like it!**

**I got the idea from watching my little cousin try and make a Marble Run around the whole of my living room and adding in a big catapult-style thing at the end. Just to let you know, it didn't work :)**

* * *

Sherlock had been absolutely, horrifically, mind-numbingly bored. That was one of the reasons he had decided to start building. The other reasons were insignificant. The skull had agreed. Sherlock had tested and tested the design, sent the marble down the chute so many times that the sound had become as normal as the traffic outside. He has been _thinking_, calculating, and using the brain that had become strained with boredom. He'd been having fun like a child with a train set. Designing and testing, editing and building. And it was finally ready. The target was painted on the door and Sherlock had climbed back to the top of his creation. It was now time to wait. Sherlock was assured that Mrs Hudson's nephew would walk through the door any minute to complain about how he had been tormenting her. He was the perfect target. A small, angry man with a loud voice and tendency to threaten Sherlock's life. There was a set of footsteps up the stairs, lighter sounding than usual for Ted. He'd probably lost weight. Sherlock released the marble. It ran down the chute, setting off the other home-made devices that would eventually set of the final device. The one that would make this whole exercise worthwhile. The door opened, the bag of fake blood dropped into the bowl, John walked into the apartment.

"No!" Sherlock cried. The catapult went off. John realised too late what was flying at him.

Sherlock ran over.

"Please tell me this is fake." John murmured, wiping the liquid from his face.

"It's fake."

"Are you lying?"

"Not this time." Sherlock promised. John looked down.

"You've ruined my shirt." He noted.

"I suppose I have." Sherlock grimaced. John frowned.

"This is my best shirt." John told him.

"Oh." Sherlock murmured. John sighed and unbuttoned his shirt. The fake blood had seeped through. He chucked the shirt in the direction of the bin. It didn't matter if he missed; the shirt would disappear into the general crap on the floor.

"I guess I'd better go clean myself up." John sighed. "Take down the catapult, would you?"

When John came back down the stairs he was in jogging bottoms and had no top on. His top half was still wet. Sherlock couldn't stop himself looking.

"Has the laundry come up yet?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Where is it?" John asked.

"In the kitchen. I guess you're not going out again today." Sherlock commented.

"No, I have no reason to." John shrugged. He was still annoyed.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sighed, dropping his head to his chest. John smiled slightly. Sherlock was such a dramatic.

"Shut up and find me a shirt." He teased. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pointed to the kitchen. "Oh, and you only had to ask." John added, with a wink. Sherlock blushed.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Hope you liked it, tell me what you thought! I'm not sure Sherlock was quite... Sherlockey enough...**


	12. Irrational fear

_**A/N: **_**I'm churning them out! Hahahaha.**

**Okay, I apologise. **

**Hi, I'm trying to get as many chapters out as possible today... And I've been eating Mint Imperials non-stop for a dare. They make me more hyper than I realise.**

**Number 2 so far!**

* * *

"Would you shut up?"

"I'm not talking, Sherlock."

"John, shut up. It's irritating."

"I haven't spoken a word."

"Watson, please! Respect my need for silence!"

"Sherlock, shut up."

"Sorry." Sherlock muttered. Rain battered the windows relentlessly.

"I guess it would be cruel to call a delivery boy out now, wouldn't it?" John sighed. Sherlock shrugged.

"They chose the job. Besides, we could tip them well." Sherlock replied.

"Is there any food in the fridge?"

"The head is sleeping, don't wake him up." Sherlock frowned.

"Oh, right, sorry." John apologised, jumping up and heading for the kitchen anyway. Why was he apologising? He didn't know. John looked in all of the cupboards and sighed. "We have nothing, Sherlock."

"Call for pizza. I haven't had pizza in years! Of course, Mario did tell me I wouldn't like one from his shop. It was so hot I nearly drowned in the sink." Sherlock replied.

"I'm sure he did." John replied. It was much easier to go along with what the detective than ask what on earth he was blathering on about. John pulled the phone out of his pocket- a movement that caught Sherlock's eye- and dialled the number that he knew so well. "Hello, I'd like a delivery… 221b Baker Street… Holmes, yes… One pepperoni, one meat feast, two garlic breads and a Pepsi please… Yeah, that's fine… Okay thanks, bye." John hung up.

"Do you know my every food preference?" Sherlock frowned. John turned around to reply and was rather confused to find Sherlock upside down, head on the floor. John shook his head and ignored that.

"Yes. Are you that bored?" John asked. Sherlock attempted to reply, but a loud rumble of thunder made him jump and he toppled sideways to the floor. John frowned. "Are you scared of storms?" He asked.

"Irrational fear. I know that thunder is simply the sound made by lightning and lightning is an atmospheric discharge of electricity which typically occurs during thunderstorms, and sometimes during volcanic eruptions or dust storms. I'm still very much afraid of them." Sherlock admitted. John grinned.

"You're scared of something." He chuckled.

"Terrified. Mycroft used to tease me. At least _I'm_ not scared of milk." Sherlock replied factually.

"Mycroft is lactose intolerant?" John smiled.

"Extremely."

"And you're scared of storms?"

"Very much so."

"You do realise that this is meant to be a very bad storm, don't you?" John asked.

"Yes, I do. And I shall be up all night consulting the skull. I might even research how to make coco." Sherlock shrugged. A flash through the window and a rumble of thunder had Sherlock jumping to his feet.

"Do you want me to stay up with you?" John asked softly. Sherlock shrugged and walked to open the door. The pizza place was down their road, it took half a minute to deliver the pizza. He Frisbeed John's pizza and garlic bread across the room.

"I suppose this is a little like a sleep over, then." Sherlock grinned.

* * *

It was three in the morning and John Watson wondered why on earth he was sitting up watching repeats of The Weakest Link with a madman laying across his lap calling the contestants idiots. Sherlock's head rested in John's lap and due to his height, his legs dangled off the end of the sofa. Neither man had noticed that the storm had ended about an hour ago.

"Costa Rica! You absolute idiot!" Sherlock shouted.

"Sh. Mrs Hudson needs her sleep." John protested. Sherlock pouted childishly and poked John's leg.

"You're comfortable." Sherlock stated.

"You've told me that before." John noted. Sherlock shrugged and reached up. John watched with caution as Sherlock grabbed the back of his neck and pushed John's head down. Sherlock leant up. Their lips met very, very gently for a second or two before John pulled back.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, flushed.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Ooh, a kiss. Did it fit? I don't know... Tell me whatcha think, 'cos reviews are what makes me write :D**


	13. Social norm

_**A/N: **_**Wow... 3 in one day... **

**I literally have no life (Acutally, I've been packing all day ;D) **

**But, um, yeah... A not-so-great follow on to the last chapter. **

**Very cliché. I hate cliché...**

* * *

"What was what?" Sherlock asked, dropping the hand through his hair.

"You just kissed me, Sherlock." John replied.

"Very observational." Sherlock smirked. John frowned.

"I thought you didn't… Do stuff like that." John muttered.

"So did I." Sherlock shrugged. "It looks like I've changed my mind."

"So you're gay?" John asked.

"Probably. I don't know. Haven't really got much to go on." Sherlock shrugged. "Are _you_ gay?"

"I- no. I don't think so." John frowned. Sherlock shifted, but didn't move from John's lap. John didn't complain.

"At least we've cleared that up." Sherlock smiled. "Now, do you think the head would like some pizza?"

"Don't change the subject, Sherlock. I think we should talk about that." John sighed.

"What would you like me to say?" Sherlock asked.

"Well… Why did you kiss me?" John hesitated.

"I wanted to know if I would like it. I suppose now that I should have asked permission or something." Sherlock replied.

"And did you like it?" John murmured.

"I think I did." Sherlock replied. John nodded. "Did you?" Sherlock asked. John hesitantly nodded.

"Yeah, I think I did." He added.

"So, isn't it the social norm to date now?" Sherlock asked.

"I- since when did you bother with social norms?" John gaped.

"Never, I was just wondering." Sherlock grinned. John mused the point.

"I suppose it is what people would normally do. If they were attracted to each other and stuff." John replied softly.

"I see. Well, I can definitely see why you could be described as attractive." Sherlock nodded.

"Enlighten me." John smiled.

"You have a good build, you're not fat. Your features compliment that. Good personality and such. Most people find uniforms sexy, apparently." Sherlock smirked.

"Thank you." John grinned.

"Would you like to date me, John?" Sherlock asked. John paused. He would definitely say yes if he was not scared of what people would say. He felt… Stupid. Harry would never stop teasing him about it. Lestrade, Molly, Anderson and all of the others at the Police would love it. And what about his dad? His dad had been bad enough with Harry. He wouldn't mind to date Sherlock, although the… Intimacy side of things rather scared him. But there was the other side of him, the side that wanted to see just how different it would be to date Sherlock. John cleared his throat.

"Uh. Sure. Let's see how that goes." John replied, a small, terrified smile on his face. Sherlock grinned and grabbed John's hand. John leant down a little and Sherlock leant up. Their lips touched again softly and this time, Sherlock pulled back with a small smile oh his face. John grinned back.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** I don't like this one... Mind you, I don't like my own writing much... Heh. Tell me what you think! :)**


	14. What's going on?

_**A/N:**_** I'm back :D**

**And writing terribly! Honestly, I said the last one was cliché... **

**And thanks to the people who said to have a good holiday- I did! I had 10 days to come up with lots and lots of ideas :)**

**(This chapter isn't linked to the last one...) ****Well, I hope you like it! **

**Ooh, one last thing: If you read this, could you review and let me know, 'cos I love reviews :D **

* * *

John was woken by a stampede of footsteps and banging on the door. He sighed and rolled out of bed, patting down his hair and pulling a knitted sweater (It was far too cold in the flat. Sherlock must have turned off the heating again) over his bare chest before wandering down the stairs.

"Don't take another step, John! Your IQ will be severely damaged by the stupidity radiating from our Anderson here!" Sherlock cried. John ignored him.

"Ah, John. Good morning." Lestrade called, pushing through the mass of Police in the living room to greet John. John frowned sleepily and blinked.

"Is it morning?"

"Yes, four am." Lestrade replied, checking his watch.

"Oh. Good morning, then. What's going on?" John replied. The flat was full of Police officers rifling through his and Sherlock's belongings. One poor young man picked up the skull, probably thinking it was fake, and gagged when he realised that it was real.

"They think I'm withholding evidence again so it's another drugs bust." Sherlock called, appearing from the kitchen and snatching the skull back. He held it possessively to his chest.

"Sorry John." Lestrade apologised. John shrugged and sank onto the sofa. Another sleepless night, how fun. Across the room, Sherlock considered John's flannel pajama trousers and tatty old sweater. He should lose the sweater, Sherlock decided. Rather than suggest this and cause John great embarrassment the wandered over to sit next to John.

"They won't find anything." Sherlock smirked confidently. John's face clouded.

"Because you've hidden all your syringes too well." John finished sourly.

"They won't find anything because I'm clean." Sherlock corrected gently. To prove his point, he rolled up the sleeve of his 'Evil Arm' as John not-so-affectionately named it. The needle pricks on it were old and had scarred over. There were no fresh, bloody scabs. John ran a hand across the forearm and smiled.

"Good." He breathed. Sherlock grinned back and grabbed John's hand, interlocking their fingers.

An awkward cough brought their attention back into the room. It was followed by a snigger from Anderson.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen. Something bothering you?" Sherlock asked, twisting to face the Police irritably. Lestrade scratched the back of his head.

"So are you two…?" He asked awkwardly. John and Sherlock shrugged simultaneously.

"I feel so sorry for you, Watson. He's clearly made you lose your mind." Anderson called. John scowled.

"If you don't mind, there is nothing here that you can use to charge Holmes. Please leave." John requested, standing to show his irritation. Sherlock pulled him back down as the Police closed the door behind them.

"Thank you." He murmured, tucking the shorter man's head under his chin.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, did you like it? Please let me know if I've just destroyed the story.**


	15. Rejection

_**A/N:**_** I have a splitting headache from 3hrs sleep, a 3 hour flight, severe jet-lag and blasting Mumford and Sons all day.**

**Therefore, I apologise for any rubbishness :)**

**Hope you like it.**

* * *

Sherlock lead the way up to the flat and John trudged behind.

"An evening to ourselves, Watson. Let's not waste it." Sherlock smirked, walking to his room to remove his coat and gloves. John raised his eyebrows at the suggestive tone and wandered into the kitchen. It had been a good five minutes before John looked up from the paper to find Sherlock absent.

"Sherlock?" He called, putting the paper down and scraping his chair back. No answer. Bloody typical of the man who believes he doesn't have to answer to anyone. Even his- well, whatever John was to him. "Holmes?" No answer again, but a strange scraping noise from… Somewhere in Sherlock's room. If he was right, John guessed it was the window opening. Then there was some scrabbling- Sherlock climbing onto the fire exit? John sighed and walked into the empty room. The window was open and an icy breeze blasted the room. John looked out of the window and noticed Holmes sat at the top of the stairs, knees to his chest. He was only in one of his thin shirts. John turned back into Sherlock's room and grabbed the duvet from the bed. He ducked out the window and draped it around Sherlock's shoulders. Sitting next to the detective, he wrapped himself under it too and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Did you know that nervousness does strange things to the logic in your head?" Sherlock broke the silence, still staring forward.

"Definitely. It's scary, isn't it?" John replied softly.

"Us? This-" Sherlock gestured to them both- "this is terrifying."

"Come back inside?" John suggested. Sherlock shook his head and John grimaced. It was _freezing_.

"In a moment." Sherlock promised. John nodded and hesitantly put a hand on Sherlock's knee. Sherlock tensed, but didn't react further. So John took his hand back. With a nasty depressing feeling of rejection growing in his stomach, John stood.

"See you later." He murmured, leaving. Sherlock swore.

* * *

There was a knock on John's door an hour or so later.

"Yes?" He called.

"Can I come in?" Sherlock replied, his voice softer than usual. John slid out of bed and opened the door.

"Sure." John shrugged. Sherlock too was in his pajamas (Well, the flannel trousers at least), but his hair was damp and there were beads of water on his chest.

"I think I upset you." Sherlock stated, hovering by the now closed door.

"Do you?" John sat on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, I think I did." Sherlock nodded.

"Oh." John murmured.

"Indeed." Sherlock moved to stand in front of John, gently running a hand down John's arm. John looked up at the soft expression on Sherlock's face.

"Oh." John repeated. Sherlock smiled slightly.

"And although I do not quite understand how I have upset you, or what exactly I should refrain from in the future, I would like to apologise for it." Sherlock told John. John nodded.

"Apology accepted. Would you like to come to bed?" John replied. Sherlock relaxed and smiled, crawling into the bed with John.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, was it any good? Please let me know!**


	16. Silly, silly man

_**A/N:**_** Aloha. What with the stress of GCSE results collection today and my constant headache (That I've had for four days) I have been having some trouble writing recently... And so, I give you this. This horrible result of an irritating lack of sleep, a headache that just won't go away and a slightly large lack of inspiration. **

**Sorry, done with the complaining :)**

**Oh, and I would like to apologise for apologising rather too apologetically about my work. I do genuinely dislike it, but you guys seem to like it so hey-ho!**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

"Just do it, John. The tension is irritating." Sherlock growled. John jumped and looked across the room.

"What?" John frowned over his laptop.

"Put it in your blog thing, if you want. You've been sat there for twenty minutes worrying. It's annoying." Sherlock replied. John gaped.

"Uh- I wasn't going to put anything…" John trailed off.

"Yes you were. We're out of washing up stuff, can you go get some?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"How do _you_ know that?" John asked suspiciously. Sherlock never washed up. Ever.

"Amazing detective and all that. It helps." Sherlock chuckled.

"Fine." John grunted, putting the laptop down a little too violently and stalking from the flat. Sherlock grinned as the door shut and shot up to take John's seat, pulling the laptop onto his lap. John had left his blog up. Silly, silly man.

**Hello all, just thought I should be the one to inform you- as John is far too afraid of social prejudices- that he and I are now pursuing a relationship. Also John, when you read this I forgot to tell you that I ate your Snickers. Please don't hide the skull. – SH**

Sherlock grinned at his work and quickly jumped out of the chair as footsteps echoed up the stairs.

"What have you done?" John frowned as he hung up his coat. Sherlock looked far too pleased with himself.

"Nothing." Sherlock lied, taking the bag from John and kissing his cheek- something so domestic that it surprised John. John settled back into his chair and pulled the laptop back onto his lap. He had worked up the courage to write about their relationship on his blog as he walked back from Shreeji's corner shop. And then he looked at his blog.

"Sherlock." He stated.

"Yes?"

"I am going to kill you." John growled, clicking on the comments tag.

**John… Haha I hope dad is as mad at you as he was with me. Call me.** **– Harry x**

**Well isn't that lovely? I'm always right, dearies. – Mrs H**

When did Mrs Hudson start reading his blog? John frowned up at Sherlock who had moved over the room and stood behind John's chair. He was pissed off. More than that, but he was also very happy that people now knew. Sherlock put an apologetic hand on his shoulder and John held it.

"You should invite Harry around. I'll behave, if you want." Sherlock suggested quietly. John chuckled.

"She's probably in a taxi right now on her way to interrogate you." He replied.

"Ah." Sherlock smiled.

"You do realise that Mycroft-" A message popped up on the computer.

**Sherlock, you do surprise me. Mother will be so happy, you must take John to meet her! I personally shall arrange a proper meeting with the two of you. Drinks perhaps? – You know who I am. **

Sherlock chuckled.

"Drinks at his office, how Mycroft. We won't go, of course." He smirked.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Arrgh. Least favourite chapter so far! Did you like it? (That's what is important) Please let me know!**


	17. Never did like mornings

_**A/N: **_**Longest chapter so far! I was happy to write this after the madness of my family. We have been to the ganden centre 4 times in 3 days to buy 7 fish for my dad's tank. It's actually crazy...**

**Ooh, if you want a good book to read try the _Young Sherlock Holmes_ books by Andrew Lane. They're brilliant. **

**And WOW! You people are amazing! Over 100 Reviews, and all of them made me grin like a madman! (Even though I am in fact female) Thank you! **

**So, back to the story. This is from the suggestions to do a Sherlock/John/Harry scene. I liked the idea, but I've put a mean little twist on it because I am a mean, twisty person :D **

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

"Hide." John's warning came a second too late. There was a loud, excitable knock on the door. Judging from the height of the knocker, it was Harry. Sherlock grinned.

"Never." He replied, picking up a book in an attempt to look normal. When he noticed John's confused look Sherlock simply stated "Best behaviour, remember?" John chuckled and sent a thankful look Sherlock's way before opening the door.

"John." The man standing behind Harry's shoulder sent a jolt of fear through John.

"Dad." John breathed. Thomas Watson stood awkwardly behind his daughter. Harry was mouthing apologies in John's direction.

"I happened upon your blog." Thomas explained. John swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded briskly.

"Come in." He invited reluctantly, standing out of the way of the visitors. Harry kissed his cheek as she passed him. Thomas didn't even look at him. John sighed and shut the door behind him.

"Nice place." Harry complimented "Very homey." This was her way of warning him that it was a bit of a state.

"Thank you. Sorry about the mess, I've been busy at work." John lied "Feel free to take a seat, if you can find one." He added, gesturing to the living room. Sherlock looked up as they entered with a schooled expression of slight surprise on his face. He'd heard everything.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I was rather enthralled in this book and I didn't hear you." He apologised, standing and offering his hand (and a polite smile) to Thomas. Thomas Watson watched the hand for a moment before grasping it and shaking it once before dropping it as if it was on fire. Sherlock turned to Harry and offered his hand, but Harry pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry. He just turned up this morning." She whispered. As she pulled away, Sherlock nodded so slightly that the other two did not notice. They all sat.

"So, Holmes, what do you do?" Thomas asked, breaking the silence. Sherlock shot John a look to which John shrugged. Being a detective was an acceptable job.

"I'm a consulting detective, Mr Watson." Sherlock replied politely. Thomas considered this.

"I suppose you're pretty smart then?" He asked. John shot Sherlock a warning glare.

"Only in the studies that I need for my work, sir." He answered modestly.

"And those would be?"

"Forensics, mostly." Sherlock shrugged.

"Interesting." Thomas nodded.

"Sherlock, you're meant to be amazing. John says you could deduce everything about me from his phone." Harry prompted. John groaned.

"That's impressive." Thomas admitted "Is it true?"

"Slightly exaggerated, but yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Then by all means, deduce me." Thomas raised an eyebrow. John held his breath. Sherlock took a critical, long look at Thomas.

"You work practically with wood, most likely as a carpenter. You don't work locally, at least in Kent, but far enough away that you rarely visit London. You dislike crowds of people and prefer to stay alone with only a few people- preferably people you know well-" Sherlock stopped quickly. More might offend the man. Thomas Watson frowned.

"Intriguing, how on earth did you work that out?" Thomas asked.

"There is a light dusting of wood-dust on your coat and hands. It's easy to spot because it is much brighter than other dusts. The mud on your boots is from somewhere around Dartford in Kent and there is little on them from London. The crowd's part was a guess, but seeing as Harry changed our plans this morning I deduced that your arrival and dislikes of crowded pubs and restaurants concerned her enough to text us." Sherlock explained. Thomas nodded.

"Brilliant. Very, very smart." He smiled. Sherlock smiled back. John and his father were so alike. Thomas was a foot or so taller than John, a bit rounder around the middle and much greyer. Thomas had relaxed slightly and John was mouthing 'thank you' from opposite him.

"I'm sorry; I seem to have forgotten to offer drinks. Honestly, I am losing my touch these days." Sherlock sounded suitably embarrassed.

"Tea." John requested.

"Could I have a glass of water, please?" Harry asked. Sherlock nodded.

"I'm fine, thanks." Thomas stated. Sherlock nodded again and left the room.

"He's very nice. Nothing like what you say in your blog." Harry smiled.

"He's on his best behaviour. Trust me, he's terrible." John indulged with a grin.

"You said he calls himself a sociopath." Harry pointed out. John didn't need to be Sherlock to notice the _So how the hell are you with him?_ That wasn't added.

"Borderline. Doesn't have any people skills at all. He likes to call people idiots. Well, actually, that's usually just me. I warned him not to… Be how he usually is." John shrugged. Thomas frowned deeper.

"What is he usually like?" He asked.

"A bit of a prick. But he has his moments." John replied. Sherlock chuckled in the kitchen, but it was cut off as he noticed a severed toe in the empty fruit bowl. He shoved it behind the microwave and grabbed the cup and mugs. He wandered back into the room and handed the brother and sister their drinks and settled back down into Watson's chair (he'd taken to sitting in it when Watson wasn't there... And when he was.).

"So, Sherlock, why are you so interested in John? He's boring." Harry asked, adding the snide little comment at the end which John poked his tongue out to childishly.

"He's not boring at all, and he put's up with me. He gets the milk, too." Sherlock replied.

"That's it?" Harry giggled.

"Not at all. The list is too long." Sherlock smiled. John nearly choked on his drink and blushed.

"Aren't we lovely?" Harry teased.

"Try asking John when I've woken him up too early." Sherlock replied, easily making conversation. Some sociopath, John thought. Harry laughed and Thomas managed a small smile.

"He never did like mornings." Thomas added quietly.

"Neither did you!" John protested. Thomas shrugged and patted John's shoulder.

"I think I'll be off. Work and all." He murmured, standing. John and Sherlock copied.

"It's been nice to meet you." Sherlock smiled.

"You too." Thomas replied, patting Sherlock on the shoulder too. John showed his father to the door. Harry, left with Sherlock, stood too.

"Well done. Gosh, he was never that nice to me. I like you, which is good. And I'd better be off too." Harry babbled, pulling Sherlock into a quick hug before walking out.

When John returned, he dragged Sherlock into a huge hug and a desperate kiss.

"You were amazing. Thank you." He gasped, putting his head to Sherlock's chest.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, awkward twist. Did it work? Let me know!**


	18. Need a hobby

_**A/N:**_** Okay then... **

**This is a little random chapter that I'm using to break up a couple of 'meet the family' style ones. **

**It's short, sweet and... Something else beginning in 's'**

**Hope you like it.**

* * *

John had had a monumentally boring at the clinic. As he signed off another case of chicken-pox, the nurse popped her head in.

"Alright, sweetheart?" She asked. A little older than Mrs Hudson, Welsh and completely barmy, Nurse Jones was a star.

"I could do with some morphine myself. Put me out of my pain." John replied, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

"Never mind, last lad out there then you can go back to your flat and watch a bit of Eastenders, eh?" She smiled gently, popping back out of the door. John quickly bent down to fetch the pen he had dropped during the encounter with an angry five year old and the door opened and closed.

"Sorry, one second." John apologised, grabbing the pen quickly.

"It's alright. I have the time." John smashed his head on the desk at Sherlock's voice. When he peeked up, Sherlock was grinning.

"Right, hello there." He started "I'm Dr Watson, what seems to be troubling you?" It was embarrassing, but as an open clinic doctor, he had to do it. Sherlock openly laughed at it. "Please don't. What's up?" John rubbed the sore spot on his head and reclined in his chair as Sherlock wandered about the room.

"Oh, I don't know… I'm bored." Sherlock whined "Mrs Hudson took my damned skull again." John kept a perfectly straight face. Sherlock didn't need to know that he'd hidden the skull.

"You need a hobby." John shrugged.

"I have a hobby. My job is my hobby. What I need is my skull. Then I can have a peer to talk to." Sherlock explained.

"The skull is a peer?"

"Yes, but not as interesting as my boyf- as you." Sherlock cut himself off and turned away, a blush creeping up his neck.

"I'm your boyfriend?" John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock shrugged and turned back around.

"I assumed that you wouldn't mind." Sherlock replied.

"I don't. But it sounds so teenagery." John cringed slightly.

"What other word can we use, John?" Sherlock looked slightly irritated "It's not like I would know." John stood and walked to the other side of his desk. He held out his hand. Sherlock took it.

"Just because you don't know doesn't mean you can't learn." John murmured "Do you think 'partners' sounds better?" Sherlock considered this and shrugged.

"Better, yes." He nodded.

"Good." John smiled, pulling Sherlock's hand to his lips. Sherlock squirmed and John chuckled.

"Can we leave? I know where the skull is now." Sherlock added with a smirk. He pulled John close "And if you ever hide it again, I will have to kill you." He breathed into John's ear. John shivered and grinned.

"Where is it then?" John asked, his head just about making the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"In your underwear draw, because it is the only place in your room I don't go." Sherlock chuckled, kissing John's cheek gently. "Now come on, sign out. I feel up for a Chinese."

* * *

_**A/N:**_** It's random and wierd! Did you like it? Let me know.**


	19. 17,625 dollars

_**A/N:**_** I don't know where this came from... I was going to do another 'meet the family' thing and this popped into my head. **

**I quite like the idea of Mycroft being a bit more detatched. **

**Anyway, hope you like it.**

* * *

"Damn." Sherlock hissed. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

"Calm." John urged, running a hand down Sherlock's arm.

"He broke in just to leave_ that_?" Sherlock fumed.

"_He_ probably wasn't the one who broke in. I doubt he would want to get his suit dirty or something." John smiled. Sherlock's lips twitched slightly, but he continued to scowl at the bottle of… Some kind of alcohol with a note attached.

"I cannot believe him." Sherlock groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Have you even looked at it?" John asked.

"It's a Cristal Brut 1990 Methuselah. Costs 17,625 dollars." Sherlock muttered "Champagne." He added, rolling his eyes. John stared wide eyed at the bottle.

"He spent that much on champagne? For us?" He gaped. Sherlock shrugged.

"His loss." Sherlock smirked. John cautiously crouched next to the bottle and pulled the note off.

_Sherlock and John,_

_I do so hope Doctor Watson forgives my lack of formality, but we have met before. I would like to congratulate you both with this silly little gift. I hope that we are to meet soon. I shall arrange for you to come to my offices in Parliament for drinks- my little treat. _

_See you soon,_

_You know who I am. _

"Does Mycroft sign everything off like that?" John smiled slightly. Sherlock snatched the note and crumpled it in his fist.

"He loves the sense of mystery." Sherlock sighed.

"Ah, something that proves you _are_ related." John teased. Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms. John chuckled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Automatically, Sherlock uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around John's smaller frame. They stood for a moment.

"Do you think Mrs Hudson likes champagne?" Sherlock asked, pulling back enough to see John's reaction. John grinned.

"Shouldn't you know?" He asked. Sherlock shrugged and grabbed the bottle, gesturing for John to follow him downstairs. Sherlock knocked on the door and pulled John behind his right shoulder. Mrs Hudson answered.

"Now Sherlock, I'm not your house keeper. Whatever it is I'm sure you'll be fine doing it yourself." She smiled sweetly. It was hard to think that she was being serious.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson you wound me." Sherlock replied dramatically "_We_ are simply dropping by to thank you for being ever such a good landlady." Sherlock held up the bottle and presented it to her. Mrs Hudson accepted it with a little bit of excitable squeaking and two huge hugs.

They left her to invite her friends round for a tipple and walked back up to their flat, hand in hand and feeling rather good about themselves. John instantly lay out on the sofa and switched on the television. Sherlock laughed at him and sat on John's stomach. John wheezed and tried to push Sherlock off playfully, but the taller man just grinned. After a quick, silly tousle Sherlock ended up on the floor with his head resting against John's side and John's arm hugged to his chest. Nights like these were good. Sherlock definitely liked them.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, a random little chapter with the lads being nice to Mrs Hudson (with the help of Mycroft). Let me know if you like it, because reviews make me wanna write!**


	20. Smart and sophisticated

_**A/N:**_** Well, here it is. The meeting with Mycroft. **

**It doesn't actually go very far into meeting Mycroft at all and I'm not sure if I want to. I found that a little awkward to write...**

**Oh well, have a read and let me know if you think I should continue :)**

**And another little thing: I've done another Sherlock story, a one-shot, that's... Well, it's kind of meant to be pretty sad and you people are so amazing (and I am now grovelling...) I hoped that at least one or two of you could have a look? It's called Burning Grief, ta :D**

* * *

When John woke up, Sherlock was pacing about John's room and muttering to himself.

"Let me guess; you've been doing that for a while?" John mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sherlock looked up.

"Oh, you're awake. Good. A limo will pick us up in an hour and we are to go and meet Mycroft. We shall then have to endure him for lunch and will have to accompany him back to Parliament for drinks." Sherlock told John.

"Good morning to you too." John groaned, sliding back down and pulling the covers over his head. Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid into bed, pulling John into his arms.

"Good morning." He murmured against John's hair.

"Sherlock, you're freezing." John shivered.

"John, you're boiling." Sherlock retorted, holding John as close as possible. John tried to wiggle away but Sherlock kept a vicelike grip.

"Let me go. I need to shower." John grumbled into Sherlock's shoulder.

"In a minute." Sherlock whined, so John slung an arm across Sherlock's waist and looked up into Sherlock's face. "What?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing." John promised. He just smiled up into the taller man's face and wondered why on earth Sherlock chose him. He also wondered why the hell he chose Sherlock. Who knew? Who cared? They lay for a while sharing body heat before Sherlock rolled unexpectedly out of bed.

"Must get ready." He explained, offering a small smile of apology before dashing from the room. John followed quickly behind. He had fifty minutes to prepare. Joy.

* * *

Sherlock looked up from some strange collection of reports as John came down the stairs. He blinked.

"A suit." Sherlock stated. John looked down and cringed.

"Too much?" He asked. John thought that his three-piece would be appropriate. All Sherlock ever wore was suits and silk shirts. John figured a suit of his own would be needed today. Sherlock looked him up and down.

"Too…" Sherlock tried to come up with a suitable word "Sexy. Yes, that's it. Far too sexy. Loose the jacket and we're good to go." Sherlock decided, smirking. John blushed and shrugged out of the jacket. Sexy was a look he had _not_ been going for. He was thinking 'smart and sophisticated'. Oops. He pulled on one of Sherlock's long coats from the peg on the wall and slipped it on. It smelt like Sherlock. Nice and warm smelling. The man himself chuckled and pulled John by the lapels into a quick, soft kiss. The doorbell rang. "Another reason I cannot stand Mycroft-" Sherlock mumbled against John's lips – "He is always interrupting me."

* * *

The limo ride was fast and awkward and John was relieved to get out. It was quite amusing, seeing Sherlock try and unfold himself from the car. They thanked the driver and ducked into a posh little restaurant. Lucky it was on Mycroft, John thought. He couldn't afford a starter in this place. Sherlock gripped John's hand and pulled him over to Mycroft who was sitting in a corner with a glass of… Something with very little alcohol content.

"Oh, John you didn't need to dress up! I'm nobody to impress." Mycroft smiled, gesturing for them to take a seat.

"I-" John cut himself off and shrank back into his chair feeling like an idiot. Sherlock noticed and squeezed his hand.

"So, you've forced us here. Why exactly?" Sherlock scowled.

"Good company, good food and good wine. I assure you." Mycroft promised. Sherlock scowled deeper and wanted very much to jump up and drag John out of there, find a case and get stuck in and leave this behind.

"Well, uh. Thank you." John smiled as best he could, seeing as Sherlock refused to cooperate.

"Any time, any time John. It's my pleasure. Although not my brother's, it seems." Mycroft replied heartily. "Now, the lobster is exquisite here, I insist you try it!"

* * *

_**A/N: **_**So, do you want more with Mycroft or would you like some more odd randomness? **


	21. Take the moustache off

_**A/N:**_** There is no Mycroft in this chapter, but in the next one (or the one after) there will be.**

**I just figured that breaking up the 'meet the family' chapters was better. **

**Hope you like this one. John's a bit cranky :)**

* * *

"Damned psychopath." John grumbled, picking up the remains of some poor rodent from the floor between a spoon and a cleaver.

"Sociopath." Sherlock called.

"At the moment, I can't tell which you are. Probably both." John shouted back.

"Thank you." Sherlock replied.

"That's not a good thing." John muttered. There was no point trying to convince Sherlock. The thing splattered on the floor twitched. All of the bits twitched. John gagged.

"Oh, it may begin convulsing. New chemicals, they're such fun." Sherlock grinned, walking into the room.

"Stupid bloody psychopath. Bloody stupid psychopath. Bloody…" John's grumbling trailed off as he scooped up the twitching innards of… Something. Sherlock watched with mild amusement and swiftly hid the cleaver once the body parts were in the bin. "I was going to chop of your ear with that." John complained.

"And now you won't." Sherlock grinned, dancing out of the way of John's palm aimed at his chest. John sighed and stalked from the room with Sherlock on his heels.

"What is with you today?" John asked.

"Nothing unusual. You've just had very little sleep and by the looks of it, you blame me." Sherlock smiled.

"You dragged a body through the flat for _three hours_!" John exclaimed. Sherlock shrugged.

"He wanted me to." Sherlock reasoned.

"Oh, yes. Obviously. And I guess that the head asked you to defrost it, too." John replied rather sarcastically.

"Might have done." Sherlock frowned defensively.

"Psychopath. Psychopath arsehole." John growled.

"Calm down, John. You need to go to sleep." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I know that. It's you that doesn't seem to understand." John retorted. Sherlock turned away and fumbled through some piles of something, before turning back. Wearing a fake moustache.

"Boo!" He shouted. John jumped and pressed a hand to his chest.

"What the_ hell_ was that?" John gaped, breathing heavily.

"Doesn't a shock cure tiredness?" Sherlock frowned.

"No, Sherlock. Shocks cure hiccups." John scowled. Sherlock mused this.

"How illogical." He commented.

"Take the moustache off, Sherlock." John sighed.

"I like it." Sherlock protested.

"It's creepy."

"It's a moustache."

"Moustaches creep me out."

"Then I shall make Mycroft grow one." Sherlock grinned. John smiled slightly. "Now, off you go. Bedtime for you. I need you awake and ready for chasing an eleven year old child later." He added.

"Eleven?"

"Eleven. He's quite evil." Sherlock nodded.

"Oh."

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Children are evil, and moustaches are creepy :) Let me know if you like it! (a load of reviews would improve the chances of another Mycroft chapter :P)**


	22. As bad as serial killers

**_A/N: _Okay, this chapter is rather wierd. **

**I wrote it after having a strange conversation with my friend in which I somehow came up with "I don't freeze peas, I freeze cadavers."...**

**So I think you get the point.**

**Hope you don't think it's too odd :') Let me know!**

* * *

"Football." Sherlock guessed perfectly, wandering into the room with his shirtsleeves rolled up and the top button of his shirt undone. It didn't go unnoticed. John rolled his eyes as he turned back to the football.

"Who's playing?" John challenged.

"West Ham and… Bolton. You support West Ham." Sherlock smirked, not looking at the screen.

"Are you going to watch?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged.

"Why would I?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know really. Have a beer, relax. Watch some people playing football much better than you can and have a go at the ref." John listed. Sherlock considered this.

"I don't like beer." He frowned.

"Have something else then." John suggested.

"I still don't see the appeal." Sherlock shrugged. John shrugged back and hefted himself up. He rolled his bad shoulder and it cracked. John winced. Sherlock noticed. It had been bothering John lately because of the rainy weather. Sherlock knew that it helped John to have the arm propped up. Sherlock made a note to assure that it was propped up whenever he could slyly help to do so.

"Want a drink?" John asked. Sherlock nodded.

"Anything."

"Beer?"

"Anything except that." Sherlock grimaced. John smiled and grabbed a beer and a bottle of lemonade or something and walked back into the living room. Sherlock was already sitting down on the sofa with one long arm across the back. John sat himself under said arm, passing the bottle of unnameable drink to Sherlock. Both men took a big swig of their drink and Sherlock's arm wrapped around John's shoulder. John leant into Sherlock and they both chuckled at an appalling tackle on the TV.

"You'd have never have done this before I moved in." John stated.

"Do what?"

"Sit and watch football like a normal person." John explained.

"I wouldn't have a boyfriend to sit here with either." Sherlock noted. John raised his eyebrows in appreciation of the point.

"Neither would I." John added. There was a moment of comfortable silence before Sherlock used that long arm of his to reach over and grab a cushion. He propped up John's elbow with it and then put his arm back around John.

"So, this football. Why do people go to the game when it's on TV?" Sherlock asked. John paused.

"The atmosphere. Its fun, loads of people having a good time. Everyone sings and the players can actually hear the songs. And the ref can hear the abuse you shout." He decided.

"So… Its like going to a crime scene, everyone is making stupid guesses and Anderson can hear the abuse I give him?" Sherlock asked.

"I suppose, yeah. That is your idea of fun." John accepted. Sherlock nodded.

"I'm bored." He decided.

"Go find a cadaver." John replied sarcastically.

"We have one." Sherlock shrugged. John frowned.

"What?" He asked.

"We have one. In the big freezer. I thought you knew." Sherlock replied. John was dumbstruck.

"There is a dead body in our freezer? Doesn't that make us as bad as serial killers?" He cried.

"Hush! Mrs Hudson will hear you." Sherlock replied.

"Sherlock! There is a dead person in the flat!" John shouted.

"Yes, and there was one on Thursday, remember? I kept you up dragging him around." Sherlock attempted to reassure him "And this conversation is rather circular."

"I can't believe you!" John moaned, throwing his hands out to emphasise his point.

"You usually do."

"Because there isn't usually a _whole_ dead person in our house!" John protested.

"So you're fine with parts?"

"Yes, I'm fine with parts, but someone might actually want to bury a whole body!" John replied.

"Oh, no. He has no family." Sherlock assured him. John gaped again.

"You researched him?"

"Very much so." Sherlock nodded solemnly.

"That's revolting. I want him out. In fact, I'm going to bed. If he's not out by tomorrow I swear I'm going to crush the skull." John ranted, getting up. Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"Please can I keep it?_ Please_?" He begged.

"No." John scowled.

"Oh. That's no fun." Sherlock frowned. John rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs. Now, Sherlock mused, where could he dump a body?

* * *

_**A/N:**_** So, any other West Ham supporters out there? Anyone else's roommate hides bodies in the freezer? Let me know if you liked it!**


	23. Triggered flashbacks

_**A/N: **_**This is a really short chapter and it's a bit awkward. **

**Well, it was awkward to write... **

**I don't like this chapter, but I was running low on ideas and I'm exhausted from my dad's 45th (It went on until very, very, very... Far too late)**

**Hope you like it! **

* * *

Sherlock's head shot up as he heard John open the door.

"You're late." He accused. John glanced at his watch.

"Twenty seven seconds late. I'm so sorry." He replied sarcastically, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his coat.

"So you should be. I've been waiting ages to show you this game." Sherlock continued. John collapsed into the armchair opposite Sherlock.

"What game? The clean up the crap in the kitchen game?" John teased. Sherlock waved a hand dismissively and pulled out a pack of cards.

"It's called Cheat." Sherlock explained, starting to give out the cards. John froze. Cheat? Oh God.

"Look, Sherlock-"

"It's very easy." Sherlock interrupted. John screwed up his eyes and took a deep breath. Flashbacks filled his head and he grasped the sides of the chair, panicking.

"_Eh, Johnny boy! You in?" _

_John grinned and sat next to some of his fellow medics around a small table. It had been a slow day, so they'd pulled out a pack of cards. _

"_We're playing Bastard." Dennis grinned. Otherwise known as Cheat, John reminded himself. He was pretty good at that. The game began with a boisterous playfulness and at one point; John was tackled by Reid for an appalling lie. And then the bomb hit. The floor shook and the marquee collapsed on them. Must have gone off half a mile away. That was Unit 5's camp. All of the men in the game grabbed their gear and stretchers and in the panicky terror they ran the whole way to camp 5. What they found made even the toughest men gag. Parts. Not people. Chunks of burning flesh. Dismembered men still screaming. They couldn't save anyone. Then the gunshots began and Reid went down. Dead instantly. And then everyone around him was going down. All his friends…_

"John." Sherlock asked, concerned. John winced. Sherlock gently opened up John's fists and held his hands. "John, you're home. You're safe. You're with me. Open your eyes. Come on, have a look." He breathed calmly. John's eyes cracked open and tears tracked down his cheeks. "That's good, John. Look at me. I'm here. So are you."

"Sorry." John murmured.

"Shush, don't be sorry. Never be sorry." Sherlock smiled sadly, gently brushing away the tears. John smiled weakly back.

"Thank you. I- I'm such an idiot." John replied, blushing. He was crying in front of Sherlock. He must look so weak.

"No, no you're not. I didn't realise that objects triggered flashbacks for you. I'll be more careful. Sherlock promised. John scoffed.

"How could you know what not to show me? _I_ don't know what sets it off." He replied.

"I'll know." Sherlock winked. John smiled weakly again and Sherlock leant up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. John kissed back for a moment before pulling away and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "It'll get better." Sherlock promised.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Did you like it? Please let me know, 'cos then I might get more ideas... Or something :P**


	24. Not apologising

_**A/N:**_** A quick thank you to the people who've read Burning Grief and reviewed, you made my day! **

**And I support West Ham, that's why I made John support them ;) **

**So, hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

"Where's the boyfriend?" Anderson jeered. Sherlock looked up as if just noticing the man. He had actually been ignoring him for a good five minutes.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"Where's Johnny boy?"

"Don't call him that." Sherlock snapped. John was still very much subject to flashbacks and that name had seemed to be linked. John was somewhere around and Sherlock was damned if he was going to put John through it again.

"Why not? Johnny boy not like his nickname?" Anderson smirked.

"Don't call him that." Sherlock growled.

"Oh, don't get possessive on me. Johnny boy won't mind." Anderson grinned. Sherlock stood, towering over Anderson with a glare that could wipe out nations.

"Don't call him that. Get out of here now." Sherlock warned him, running a tense hand through his hair. Sherlock got too much exposure to Anderson when working on cases. This wasn't a case; this was a clean-up operation that John had insisted they help in.

"Should I go and see _Johnny-_" Sherlock had Anderson up against the wall by the throat.

"I said _don't_ call him _that_." Sherlock bellowed. People ran into the room as Anderson writhed and flailed.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted.

"Get him off me." Anderson screeched. Sherlock let go a little and slammed Anderson's head back harder.

"Sherlock let him go." It was John, calm and reassuring. He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the taller man let go instantly. Anderson choked and fell forwards.

"I want him _out_!" Lestrade ordered "He's suspended for a week."

"Come on." John sighed, pulling Sherlock bodily from the scene. People were staring. Officers, forensics, Lestrade. Sherlock tensed his hunched shoulders and ducked his head down. Once they were outside in the rain, he flexed his shoulders.

"I'm not apologising." He muttered. John patted him on the arm.

"I'm not asking you to." John promised softly. Sherlock turned away from John and took a moment to calm himself, worried that he had disappointed John. John allowed him his space for a while, then rubbed soothing circles on Sherlock's back. Sherlock turned and pulled John into a hug.

"I should have walked off. I shouldn't have done that." He admitted gruffly into John's hair.

"It doesn't matter. He probably deserved it." John smiled gently.

"Can we leave? People are staring." Sherlock asked.

"Since when has that bothered you?" John chuckled, taking Sherlock's hand and leading him away. It was a short, brisk walk back to Baker Street in which Sherlock reflected and John wondered. They both relaxed slightly in warmth of the flat.

"I'm suspended for a week? That's never going to happen." Sherlock smirked, lying out across the sofa. John raised an eyebrow and lifted up Sherlock's top half, sitting underneath him and letting Sherlock's head rest in his lap.

"Don't get cocky, or I'll let Lestrade have a go at hiding the skull." John smiled.

"He'd hide it under his desk." Sherlock dismissed the threat.

"Oh." John smiled, ruffling Sherlock's hair.

"Poor man, he's far too predictable." Sherlock chuckled, glad that John had not asked about the incident. He was good like that.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** It's about time Anderson got shown who was boss! Did you like it? Let me know, and I'll keep up the fast updating.**


	25. No more bullying

_**A/N: **_**I suppose I should have made this into two seperate chapters...**

**But I've had to wipe my computer and re-download EVERYTHING and get an English fiction essay done today so no offence, but I couldn't be bothered. **

**So you've got this...**

**Hope you like it anyway :)**

**Oh, and by the way seeing as I've hit the 25 chapter mark I was wondering if you lovely people could give me a review on how the whole story is going so far and what you want more/less of? Thanks.**

* * *

"Jo-oo-ohn." Sherlock bellowed.

"In the airing cupboard, dear. It's warm but I doubt he'll find you." Mrs Hudson smiled.

"Thanks." John smiled, jumping out of his chair and quickly tucking himself into the airing cupboard. He was a bit annoyed that he barely started his tea. Mrs Hudson's airing cupboard was nice, it didn't have chemicals brewing in it.

"Mrs Hudson, it is very inappropriate to hide my John in your airing cupboard." Sherlock's sing-song voice called. John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Sherlock. Leave him be. We were having a lovely little conversation about my Ted." Mrs Hudson scolded. The door of the airing cupboard swung open and Sherlock glared down at John.

"Good evening." John blurted. Sherlock arched an eyebrow.

"Okay dear, I guess its time for you to go home." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Another time?" John smiled sadly.

"Any time, dear." Mrs Hudson smiled.

"If you're quite finished." Sherlock scowled. John sighed and hauled himself to his feet. Sherlock grabbed his arm and locked onto it.

"Bye, Mrs Hudson." John smiled as he was lead from the room by Sherlock. As the door closed behind them, Sherlock pressed John against the wall.

"You are _mine_." He growled, kissing John powerfully. John sank into the kiss just as Sherlock pulled away.

"I know that." He chuckled, his hands moving to Sherlock's waist.

"No more sneaking off." Sherlock warned.

"I left a note on the door." John protested. Sherlock smirked and kissed John again, drawing a small groan out of him.

"I know." He grinned "Now, get changed. I want to go out." John gaped as Sherlock pulled away and began running up the stairs.

"Where are we going?" John called.

"To make Lestrade take back the suspension." Sherlock replied, disappearing into the flat. John looked down at his clothes. It was a warm day and he was in an old tee and some jeans. What was wrong with that? He followed Sherlock up the stairs and into the flat.

"What do you want me to wear?" He asked. Sherlock was looking for something under his desk.

"Clothes. Not them. Too cute, don't want people eyeing you up. The shirt I bought you, maybe? No. The scarlet one- back of your wardrobe, the jeans can stay." Sherlock replied distractedly. John chuckled and pulled off his shirt, throwing it across the room and into the kitchen.

* * *

"Mr L, the freak is here to see you." One of the officers called. Lestrade appeared from his office and scowled, going into his 'Policeman stance'.

"I told you, a week suspension." Lestrade stated. Lots of heads turned and John squirmed on the spot.

"I'm not a member of your team. You can't suspend me." Sherlock retorted.

"I can keep you off cases." Lestrade snapped. He was trying to show his authority, and Sherlock was intending to break that in front of his team. It was a low blow, but a necessary one.

"No you can't." Sherlock smirked, mirroring Lestrade's stance. John found himself between them.

"Yes, I can." Lestrade insisted.

"Everyone in this room knows you can't." Sherlock smiled. Lestrade's shoulders slacked a little.

"Sherlock." John warned him.

"It's for John's safety. You _know_ what I'm like when I don't have cases. I've already thought about killing him, doing an experiment." Sherlock drawled. John gaped up at Sherlock, shocked. Everyone in the room did too.

"But Sherlock, he's your- Jesus man, you're sick." Lestrade choked "God, you can come back." Lestrade glanced at John.

"Good." Sherlock grinned "Oh, and by the way: I'd kill myself before I even thought about hurting John." He added with a wink, pulling John by the arm from the room. When they were outside, John turned and smacked him on the arm.

"No more bullying." He warned.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Gah, lack of sleep/time/brainpower has made me veryyy lazy. Please let me know what you think :)**


	26. Tigers have stripes

_**A/N:**_**Hope you like this one... It is a little bit odd. **

**And the sign language bit is because I just realised that me and my mum communicate by sign language to annoy my dad because he doesn't know it :P**

**Hope you like it, let me know! :)**

**

* * *

**"So."

"So indeed."

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Right then."

"You sound like an imbecile, John." Sherlock smiled.

"So do you." John retorted, looking over the top of the laptop.

"I can't sound like an idiot, I'm far too smart." Sherlock poked his tongue out. John rolled his eyes and turned back to his blog.

_**- And he insists that he is intelligent far too much. My gosh, I'll have to knock him out and tattoo 'I'm not actually as smart as I say I am.' on his head one of these days. Best be off before he kills something. **_

_**J Watson. **_

John folded down the laptop and put it carefully on the floor.

"Do you know what I've been learning today?" Sherlock asked. John raised an eyebrow.

"You were on my laptop all day playing Battleships." He replied.

"And?"

"Bejewelled." John added.

"No! What was I really doing?" Sherlock sighed.

"How should I know? You delete the history every time you nick my laptop." John rolled his eyes and gave Sherlock a pointed look. Sherlock did not reply. He simply moved his hands a few times and smirked. "What?" John frowned. Sherlock repeated his sign language. He rolled his eyes at the blank look on John's face.

"I said 'Stop talking stupidly'." He explained.

"I wasn't." John protested.

"You always do."

"Than I can't stop." John smirked.

"A tiger can change his spots." Sherlock replied.

"A tiger?"

"Yes."

"Tigers have stripes, Sherlock."

"Oh."

"You didn't know that?" John chuckled.

"Yes… I do, actually." Sherlock lied. John laughed again and heaved himself out of his seat. He walked over to where Sherlock was sitting, put his arm on the back of the chair and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock immediately melted into John's kiss and put his hands on John's waist. As soon as he felt the contact, John pulled away.

"Don't lie to me." John growled. Sherlock grinned.

"I won't." Sherlock breathed.

"Promise."

"I promise." Sherlock smirked. John leant in again and kissed Sherlock hard. Sherlock pulled John closer and moaned as John moved to kiss Sherlock's neck. John then pulled away and smirked at the flushed man before him.

"Good." He told Sherlock, walking back to his chair.

"That wasn't fair!" Sherlock protested. Man was weak when his thoughts were on other things. Everyone knew that.

"Life's not fair, Sherlock." John grinned.

"You just wait, John. I'll get you back." Sherlock scowled.

"I look forward to it."

"Good."

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Did you like it? It was a bit short... But oh well :) Let me know what you thought!**


	27. I dislike kidnapping people

_**A/N:**_** I love lazy days, I can get longer chapters out... **

**And not do the homework due in very soon :P**

**You wanted more Mycroft, and I thought 'Why the hell not?'**

**There's not much Mycroft, mind. But at least there's some, right?**

**Hope you like it!**

**

* * *

**

"What-"

"Mr Holmes suggests that you get in the car, Doctor."

"But-"

"Mr Holmes also suggests that you do not alert the other Mr Holmes."

"Oh for-"

"Dr Watson, I recommend that you get in the car."

"I have some-"

"Please."

"What if I just-"

"Now, please. Mr Holmes has suggested kidnapping and I dislike kidnapping people."

"Fine, fine." John sighed, bundling himself into the back of a rather nice Mercedes.

"Thank you, Dr Watson. Our journey shall be short and painless."

"Right. Sure." John nodded. He looked around the car and found someone he recognised. "Oh, hello. What's your name today?"

"Um…" she looked around "Ember."

"Hello Ember." John smiled.

"Hello John." She replied. John sat back and sighed. Had he gone mad? Highly likely. In about three months he had met a sociopath, been kidnapped by said sociopath's extremely successful brother, nearly died, become the sociopath's boyfriend, nearly died some more, been kidnapped some more, nearly died again and so on. _Great_. Actually, it really was pretty great.

"Any ideas where we're going this time?" John asked.

"Yes." Ember smiled at her Blackberry.

"Going to tell me?"

"Do I usually?"

"No."

"Okay then."

"Oh." John slumped back against the leather seat and clasped his hands together in defeat. The car barreled through the streets of London, somehow getting through all of the traffic lights. It wasn't much of a surprise. Mycroft was probably in control of them as well as everything else. Or maybe _Ember_ was doing it on her Blackberry. John was lost after a few minutes and watched the commuters coming home from work. His phone buzzed.

**Thought you'd be home. Mrs H said visitor. Not Harry. Are you safe? x - SH**

Ember hadn't noticed.

**Safe. Well. Visitor unexpected. In good hands. X – JW**

Almost as soon as he sent the message he got one back.

**If it's who I think it is, I'll tell mother. x – SH**

John had to laugh, gaining him a worried look.

**I'm not sure that'd help. Be back asap. X – JW **

No reply came, so John pocketed his phone just as the car stopped. Ember's door opened and so did John's so they both climbed out.

"Ah John. So nice to see you again." Mycroft was leaning against his umbrella. Behind him was the Globe Theatre.

"Hello Mycroft." John replied.

"I apologise for any inconvenience caused. I felt it necessary for a little chat. Would you join me for some tea?" Mycroft smiled.

"Sure, why not?" John shrugged. Mycroft grinned toothily and pushed himself back onto both feet. He led John into the Globe Café. A bit public, John thought.

A table was already set up when they got there, but there were people sitting at it. Mycroft looked shocked.

"I told mother." Sherlock smirked. John looked down at the woman sitting next to him. She looked like a remarkable female mix of Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Now, Mycroft. You cannot keep kidnapping Sherlock's boyfriend." The woman scolded. Mycroft's face darkened.

"John." Sherlock smiled, patting the seat next to him. John sat obediently and Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"John." The woman repeated.

"Mrs Holmes." John smiled politely "I'm glad to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Mrs Holmes replied, smiling kindly at him.

"Mother is confused as to why on earth you put up with Sherlock." Mycroft explained, sitting ungraciously down on a chair.

"So am I." John admitted. Mrs Holmes and Mycroft laughed. Sherlock pouted. John patted his knee.

"Mycroft, your diet is failing." Sherlock snapped.

"I've lost three pounds. You don't seem to be putting on weight." Mycroft retorted swiftly.

"You do enough for the both of us, it seems." Sherlock smirked. As the bickering continued, Mrs Holmes turned to John.

"Mycroft tells me you were an army doctor." She smiled.

"Yes ma'am."

"And Sherlock tells me you were shot in the shoulder."

"Yes ma'am."

"How awful! I hope Sherlock is looking after you." Mrs Holmes glanced at her arguing sons. John laughed, drawing her attention again.

"I highly doubt that's ever going to happen." John chuckled. Mrs Holmes nodded sadly.

"I suppose it was a long shot." She sighed "Boys!" she added sharply as Sherlock flicked a piece of biscuit at Mycroft, who deflected it perfectly.

"Mother, I must apologise but I cannot stand such ridiculous company. I shall meet with you some other time." Sherlock scowled at Mycroft and stood, grabbing John's hand.

"Goodbye Mrs Holmes, Mycroft." John managed before he was dragged from the café.

"How irksome. I apologise on the behalf of my family." Sherlock sighed.

"Your mum seems nice." John offered.

"Mother is lovely. Mycroft is hideous." Sherlock replied quickly "Now, home."

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_**A/N:**_** Did you like it? Let me know!**


	28. Drop the crowbar

_**A/N:**_** Busy, busy, busy... **

**Please review, even though I update a lot... Reviews make me want to keep writing!**

**Hope you like this one, let me know!**

**

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**

"Sherlock?" John's question fell on deaf ears as Sherlock sprinted from the flat with a crowbar. With a sigh, John grabbed his gun and ran out the fire exit. On the street, Sherlock was holding a man against the wall with the crowbar across his throat. People were screaming.

"John. Took your time." Sherlock panted. The man squirmed.

"Should I be jealous?" John asked.

"Never." Sherlock winked, pressing the crowbar a little harder.

"You know, as a doctor I'd say that isn't too good for his health." John frowned conversationally.

"I'm calling the Police!" A hysterical woman screeched. Sherlock's face tightened into a glare and he turned to face her.

"Please do, I feel that the situation requires it. Ask for DI Lestrade, would you?" Sherlock requested.

"Mycroft probably has already." John told him.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose he has." Sherlock muttered "Don't bother." He called to the woman shakily pulling out her phone. They'd attracted quite a crowd.

"Ge- im- off- eee!" The man gasped.

"What are you doing? Sherlock! Alright, Police. Everyone leave now." The crowd parted.

"Ah, Lestrade." Sherlock grinned, turning.

"Sherlock, you can't just attack people!" Lestrade called.

"Let him go." John warned. Sherlock shrugged.

"He killed Mr and Mrs Arnatt and raped their daughter. Look, the chalk on his shoes fell off the chalk notice board in their kitchen. Nobody has chalk notice boards that this man is associated with except the Arnatt's- the Arnatt husband worked in a chalk supply factory. It was all over the house. The girl's room was covered in the stuff. This man, Ryan Herring, came here because he was watching John and I work on the case. He was there in the alley, kicking a football around while we searched the Arnatt place. Hiding in plain sight does work sometimes. He came here to throw a brick through our door. He killed them because the daughter supposedly shouted his younger brother. He enjoys the thrill of the kill- he was kicking the ball far too hard. So, Lestrade. Who will you be arresting?" Sherlock explained, in about three breaths.

"Drop the crowbar." Lestrade sighed. Sherlock swung it away from Herring's throat and lobbed it on to the fire escape. Herring choked and fell forwards.

"I've got a strange sense of de ja vue." Donovan frowned.

"John, do we need to get him to hospital?" Lestrade asked. John, who had been standing quietly to the side, stepped forwards. And kicked Herring in the face.

"He needs one now. Fucking dirty pervert." John confirmed upon hearing the crack of Herring's nose as the man flew back.

"Oh hell! You can't do that!" Lestrade shouted, running hands through his hair.

"He just did, Detective. Now, if you don't mind, we have places to be." Sherlock replied, wrapping his arm around John's waist and leading him away.

"Sherlock! You both committed criminal offences."

"He killed two people." Sherlock replied.

"You can't keep doing that!" Lestrade cried.

"I can and I will." Sherlock retorted.

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_**A/N:**_** Did you like it? **


	29. Recyclables

_**A/N: **_**There is a reason this chapter is so short... **

**I recently deleted two chapters before this, due to a character I added that I didn't like... **

**So I had to remove any related content from this one, hence it being so short.**

**Please review!**

**

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**

"Sherlock!" John bellowed, dropping everything.

Sherlock was hanging from the rope in the ceiling. By his neck.

John ran over, hugged Sherlock's legs to his chest and supported Sherlock's weight with his shoulder. Sherlock gasped, choked and heaved. Something fell out of his mouth and Sherlock caught it.

"Ah, must have fallen asleep." He grinned, holding up the small copper tube. It glistened with saliva.

"You were doing an experiment." It was a statement, not a question. Sherlock knew this.

"Yes."

"You scared the shit out of me for an experiment."

"Yes."

"I should just drop you." John mused darkly. Sherlock flinched.

"Please don't." Sherlock replied, pulling a lovely sharp kitchen knife from his pocket and slicing the rope around his neck.

Both men toppled backwards onto the sofa with an almighty crash.

"Sherlock, the skull is going in the bin." John told him, rubbing his head.

"Does it go in the recyclables?" Sherlock frowned.

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_**A/N: **_**Quality, not quantity ;)**


	30. Business card type arrangement

_**A/N:**_** Bleh. Day 3 of school and I am dying. Bleh bleh bleh. **

** Well, for once I have nothing to say...**

**Please review, and I hope you like it!**

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"I'm glad you had the time for a chat, my dear." Mrs Hudson patted John on the arm and John smiled back at her warmly. He really did enjoy Mrs Hudson's company. It was like returning to the real world for an hour or so a week, becoming boring old John with his limp and his twitching hand again instead of John-with-a-sociopathic-boyfriend-who-spends-two-thirds-of-his-life-chasing-criminals. It helped John retain his sanity.

"Always will have the time for our chats." John replied truthfully. His hand twitched violently, suggesting that he had better get back upstairs. Mrs Hudson said another goodbye and shut the door. John swung himself around and heaved his leg up the stairs. The flat was empty. It wasn't a surprise. So John pulled his laptop out of the vegetable box in the fridge. Sherlock had decided to put it there last night. Something about freezing out the viruses. There were no bloody viruses. Unless Sherlock had gone and downloaded a Trojan Horse or Bubble Boy or something ridiculous like that. He plopped down in 'Sherlock's chair' and pulled up his blog.

**Lovely little tea with Mrs H this afternoon. Glad of a little normalcy. No idea where Holmes is. Now I'm the bored one! - JW**

John sighed and headed for the fireplace to grab his book. Then he noticed it. A ring box. The type people engage with. John frowned and reached out. He opened it slowly. A piece of paper covered the contents.

_John,_

_Thought you wouldn't be able to resist a look. If you got your hopes up, I'm sorry- I'm not quite… Ready, should I say? You know me._

_Please read this before you have a look at it. _

_I'm out, of course. I'll be very surprised if you haven't looked._

_I want you to have it, I hope you like it- not that that matters at all. I'll just buy another. _

_Mummy said people appreciate presents. That bag of dead rats you bought from the irregulars was nice. I did appreciate it._

_Anyhow- you do let me ramble- Have a look and if you like it, it's yours!_

_You know I will know if you have had a look and did not like it so please do not feel guilty and such. I can afford it and if I couldn't, Mycroft could. I know what you're like… _

_Will be home very soon._

_Sherlock x_

It was scrawled on a very posh looking business card type arrangement. John frowned and gently moved it aside. Underneath laid a shining silver ring with two bands twisting around themselves. John turned it from side to side and regarded the ring. It was simple, not tacky gold and very, very Sherlock. John pinched it between his fingers and held it up to the light. It was… Beautiful. John put the ring on his finger and clenched and unclenched his fist. It fitted perfectly. It looked good.

"The right hand, very good. I did hope you weren't dim enough to put it on your left." An arm wrapped around his waist and Sherlock's tall, warm body pressed against his back. John leant into his embrace.

"Thank you." He murmured. Sherlock rested his head on John's, nuzzling his hair. John squirmed and Sherlock chuckled.

"I had a lot of help from Mummy." He replied, his chest rumbling as he spoke against John's back.

"Thank you, Mrs Holmes, too." John smiled softly.

"She said you would like it." Sherlock replied proudly. John smiled and wiggled round to face Sherlock. The taller man bent his head to see John and smirked at the height difference.

"Oh, shut up." John rolled his eyes.

"It's unbearably cute. Honestly. The level of your cuteness is incredibly unreachable by others." Sherlock murmured, leaning down to place a soft kiss on John's lips. John smiled and pressed his hand (with the ring on it) to Sherlock's cheek, pulling away.

"Thank you." He whispered.

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_**A/N: **_**Did you like it? **


	31. No point trying to surprise you

_**A/N:**_** I am in much pain today. I pulled my hamstring, in a spacehopper race, in school, in a lesson. Best way to injure myself, ever!**

**So hello. I hope you like this one. It's sort of a follow up ofthe last one...**

**Let me know if you like it because reviews make me very, very happy!**

**(Also, thank you very much for the reviews of _Burning Grief_! They surprised me and I was a very happy person all day :D)**

* * *

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Oiy, Sherlock. Oh, there you are." John wandered into Sherlock's room and sat himself down on the bed. Sherlock was sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed as he hummed a soft note. Sherlock stopped humming but did not open his eyes.

"Yes?" He asked.

"What are you doing?" John frowned.

"'M bored." Sherlock replied.

"When aren't you?" John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smirked. John blushed.

"Why were you looking for me?" Sherlock thankfully changed the subject.

"You left the oven on. That toe was… Well, there's not much left." John replied. That particular experiment had stunk. And John expected that they would, yet again, have to buy a new oven.

"Ah. Oh. That wasn't meant to happen." Sherlock frowned.

"Can you open your eyes? You're freaking me out." John replied. Sherlock opened one eye and rolled it, then opened them both.

"So, you just wanted to tell me about the toe." Sherlock raised both eyebrows suspiciously. John fidgeted.

"Yes." He murmured.

"Liar. What is in your pocket?" Sherlock accused. John sighed.

"No point trying to surprise you, is there?" He grumbled.

"Nope. What's in your pocket?" John frowned and reached into his pocket, throwing the object at Sherlock.

"I figured that since we were giving presents, you might want it." John explained. Sherlock opened his fist and stared.

"Your dog tag?" He asked quietly, turning over the small metal tag and chain.

"Yeah." John nodded.

"Why would you give it to me?" Sherlock frowned. John shrugged.

"It's… It's a reminder of a pretty big part of my life and you're a big part of my life too." John replied hesitantly "That sounds so stupid." Sherlock shook his head.

"Not stupid. Logical. Still ridiculous, I can't take it." Sherlock replied. A nasty, twisting feeling gripped John's stomach.

"Why?" John's voice was small and wounded. Sherlock looked up.

"Because I can't. It's far too much of a part of you." Sherlock paused "I'm not good with people, John. I can't read you all like Mycroft can. But I know _you_. And I know how much this means to you. I can't take it, John. Not this." Sherlock explained quietly. John swallowed. Sherlock stood and sat next to John, gently placing the dog tag in John's hand.

"Sorry." John murmured.

"Sorry for what?" Sherlock asked.

"I- I don't know. Sorry for being stupid." John shrugged. He was such an idiot. So stupid. He should have bought something. Anything. Not try and offer Sherlock some stupid necklace.

"No, John. You're not stupid. This-" he gestured to the dog tag- "is not stupid. I'm so, so… Proud that you offered it to me. Stop thinking that this doesn't count. This is better than that watch you were looking at. You couldn't afford it and I can tell the time on my phone." Sherlock replied, smiling softly. John smiled back and leant into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him close, marvelling at the gift John was willing to give.

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_**A/N: **_**So, let me know if this was okay!**


	32. Time for a nap

_**A/N:**_** Apologies for the lack of uploading!**

**To add to my amusing hamstring injury, I now have the flu :(**

**Hope this is okay...**

**+ Maybe lots of reviews will make me feel better? :P**

* * *

Sherlock smiled gently, his hand tracing odd little patterns on John's bare arm. He hadn't thought to wake John- they'd both been out on a case very late last night and John got moody when he was woken too early. Sherlock smiled. Moody John was rather amusing, but he was far more useful after having a lot of sleep. Well, Sherlock admitted, it wasn't exactly John's usefulness that was important. John just being John was important. Because John didn't just call Sherlock a dick and walk away. Because John accepted him. Because John was John. And Sherlock lov- no, he appreciated John for it. Sherlock couldn't love, apparently. John could, though. Another thing Sherlock admired.

"Hey, you." John's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Sherlock smiled.

"Good morning." He replied quietly. John smiled.

"You've been up hours, haven't you?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, content.

"When did you wake up?" John yawned into the back of his hand.

"Four." Sherlock shrugged. John's eyes widened and Sherlock chuckled warmly.

"I haven't woken up that early in years." John smiled lopsidedly. He was still tired, Sherlock concluded.

"Go back to sleep." Sherlock offered.

"Only if you do." John yawned again, tugging gently on Sherlock's arm. Sherlock slid down the headboard and curled his arm under John's head.

"Not promising any sleep on my part, but go ahead." He rumbled. John rolled his eyes and curled closer into Sherlock's body heat. Sherlock returned to trailing his patterns.

"That tickles." John muttered into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock chuckled.

"Deal with it." He smirked. John squirmed.

"Shouldn't I be at work?" He asked.

"It's Sunday."

"Oh." John pursed his lips, musing the fact.

"Have a lay-in." Sherlock suggested "We can go to a café and then… Well, who cares? It's a Sunday." John laughed.

"Okay, okay. Since when have you liked lazy Sundays?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged and pressed his lips to John's temple.

"Go to sleep." He replied quietly.

"Why do you want me asleep?" John frowned suspiciously.

"Because you've had less than five hours sleep and besides, you look cute." Sherlock smiled. John blushed and his face in Sherlock's shoulder.

"You go to sleep." He grumbled.

"No, I don't need sleep." Sherlock lied, but a yawn betrayed him. John chuckled.

"Come on, you." John smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock "Time for a nap."

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_**A/N:**_** Let me know if you liked it!**


	33. That will suffice

_**A/N:**_** It's a miracle! I can walk again! :D**

**And so, in my good mood, I decided to write you an annoying chapter! **

**You may not like the end of this one, so let me know :) **

* * *

"Where is the banana?" Sherlock bellowed. John sighed and pointed in the general direction of the toaster. There were two or three in there. Sherlock stopped pulling his own hair, smiled and trotted over to the kitchen. John rubbed his eyes wearily and blinked away the need for sleep.

"It hasn't exploded." Sherlock complained. John looked up.

"Oh dear." He replied sarcastically. Sherlock scowled.

"Don't laugh at me." He muttered, throwing the banana to the side. Both watched it hit the wall and explode. John groaned.

"Why would you do that?" He asked, gesturing to the mush on the wall.

"It's a vast improvement to the wallpaper." Sherlock replied. John looked over at the splat. Sherlock was right, it did make an improvement.

"If you don't like the wallpaper, buy some paint." John suggested. Sherlock mused this and shook his head, his curls flying wildly. "And get a hair cut."

"No." Sherlock pouted, placing protective hands in his hair.

"I'll just text Mycroft to-"

"You have Mycroft's number?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yes. Don't you?" John replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Not his direct one." Sherlock pouted. John smirked.

"Jealous?"

"No." Sherlock lied, glancing distractedly at the old case notes pinned up on the wall with a particularly sharp knife. The kind Sherlock used as his last defence in a fight. Or just to hold crap against the wall.

"Sherlock?" John was grinning. It annoyed Sherlock.

"What?" He muttered.

"You're jealous." John sang, his eyes twinkling. Sherlock growled.

"No, I'm not." He snapped.

"You wound me." John gaped sarcastically . It was Sherlock's turn to smirk now and he rolled forwards onto the balls of his feet so that he was crouching in front of John, who lay across the sofa. His feet didn't even reach the end.

"I will in a minute, if you don't shut up." Sherlock rumbled. John raised an eyebrow again and chuckled, folding the page down on the book he was holding.

"Shut me up, then." He challenged. Sherlock shook his head, a small smirk on his lips, and he stood. And walked away, off into the kitchen. John almost groaned.

"I think that will suffice." Sherlock called.

"You're an arsehole." John replied, scowling in the direction of Sherlock's voice.

"Not the first time I've been called that." Sherlock was far too smug.

"Yeah, but this time it's someone that lov-" John stopped himself.

In the kitchen, Sherlock stopped rooting through the fridge and froze.

"You were saying?" He asked, his voice far calmer than he felt. John took a moment to collect himself, panic rising in his chest.

"Well I was going to say that this time, it's not someone who hates you that's calling you an arsehole." John covered his own accidental slip of words, masking it with a perfectly practiced, easy smile. Sherlock couldn't see. And John couldn't see the drop in Sherlock's face.

"That's a first." Sherlock managed to say, slapping a smile onto his face. He turned and faced the awkward smile on John's lips. And sighed.

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_**A/N:**_** Wanted to make it very awkward at the end there... Did it work?**


	34. Toxic smoke cloud

_**A/N:**_** Hello there :)**

**Quick, silly little one for you today. Had the idea of this after suffering a nasty, nasty bloody knuckle in... Well... Knuckles... **

**(rules are at the bottom for those who don't know them) **

**Let me know if you like it! If I get... Say... 10 reviews, I'll crank up the 'L-word' situation.**

**There's a challenge for you...**

**(PS, I'll probably do it anyway, but reviews make me happy :D)**

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Sherlock threw himself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him just before the cloud of smoke billowed in.

"Sherlock!" John cried, covering himself as best he could. It was lucky the shower had steamed up. Sherlock blinked.

"John, how inappropriate. Where are your clothes?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm in the shower, Sherlock. You don't wear clothes in the shower!" John exclaimed.

"Oh. Well, yes. I know that." Sherlock rummaged around in the towel cupboard "Turn the shower off and get decent." He ordered. John turned off the water, sighing, and caught the towel that Sherlock threw over the top. He wrapped it around his waist and then joined Sherlock, who was sitting on the closed toilet seat.

"What are you doing, then?" He asked. Sherlock looked to the door guiltily.

"I may have released a gas that causes terrible, terrible things to happen." Sherlock twisted his mouth guiltily. John rolled his eyes.

"It can't be that bad." He chanced.

"If having your lungs melt isn't that bad for you, then feel free to go out there." Sherlock replied, gesturing to the flat. John groaned.

"You're serious?"

"Deathly." Sherlock nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"How long are we stuck in here?" John frowned.

"About an hour." Sherlock replied quietly. John groaned and wandered over to where he had dumped his clothes.

"Turn around." John ordered, shooting Sherlock a dark look. Sherlock widened his eyes innocently.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because-" John blushed a coughed awkwardly.

"Oh. Please tell me, John you're not- My goodness, Watson. You're embarrassed about your body." Sherlock gaped. John blushed even more.

"You know, I used to take separate showers in Afghanistan. The guys there were better at accepting it." John scowled. Sherlock burst out laughing.

"Unless I am mistaken- which is highly unlikely- none of those men were in a relationship as intimate as ours with you." Sherlock smirked.

"You're not mistaken, and so what? Doesn't mean I'm any more comfortable with it." John protested. Sherlock rolled his eyes and made a point of turning away. John got his clothes on as quickly as he could.

"Happy now?" Sherlock raised a teasing eyebrow. John sighed and thwacked him on the arm.

"Far happier." John nodded. Sherlock smiled.

"Do you have a pound coin?" He asked.

Half an hour later, Lestrade wandered around an empty flat in search of Sherlock, who had texted him about a case. Then he came to the bathroom.

"Shit, Sherlock! That was vicious!" John howled. Lestrade knocked.

"Come in." Sherlock called pleasantly. Lestrade opened the door. John and Sherlock stood either side of an ironing board (why they kept it in there, he did not know) and John was shaking a bleeding fist.

"What are you doing?" Lestrade frowned.

"John taught me a great new game. It's called Knuckles." Sherlock smiled, holding up unscathed hands. John sheepishly held up knuckles covered in cuts.

"I'm loosing." He admitted. Lestrade nodded slowly.

"In the bathroom." He frowned.

"Sherlock released a toxic smoke cloud into the flat." John shrugged.

"So why am I still alive?" Lestrade queried, smirking. It took a second to sink in.

"Sherlock you-"

John growled.

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_**A/N:**_

**Knuckles:**

**A game where a group of people sit around a table with a coin, preferably £1, but most/any will work. One player spins it for the person on their left to catch between their index and middle fingers. Play moves in a clockwise direction. If the spinner mis-spins it 3 times, the catcher slides it along the table very quickly at their knuckles. This also happens if the catcher catches it with the coin horizontal. This happens in reverse if the catcher mis-catches it (once). Results in cut knuckles if you slide the coin hard enough.**


	35. Bruised ribs

_**A/N:**_** I watched the Sherlock DVDs today. Gosh. Sick day well spent! Beardy Anderson was far too cool...**

**Anyhow, I wrote this random little one between laughing at the commentary with Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and Mark Gatiss :')**

**Hope you like it, let me know! **

**(Reviews really do make me want to write :P)**

**Also I'll continue 'L-Word' next chapter, I just liked this idea far too much to let it go ;)**

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"John, what is that awful smell?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Lavender. Mrs Hudson gave us some room scents." John smiled up from the paper.

"That's revolting. Where have you hidden it?" Sherlock moaned. John just smirked.

"Not telling." John sang.

"I'll find it, then." Sherlock replied.

"I have more." John grinned.

"Shit." Sherlock grunted, pulling at his hair. John found it far too amusing as Sherlock spun around in circles, sniffing violently at the air and burst out laughing, doubling over and screwing up his eyes to stop tears rolling out. So he was completely taken by surprise when Sherlock shoved him against the wall, intent on bullying (or teasing) John in to getting rid of the lavender. John's instinct kicked in and he punched Sherlock hard in the stomach.

"Sherlock- Crap, I'm sorry." He gaped, backing away. Sherlock choked out a laugh and tackled John against the wall. John landed with a thud, and a probably a bruised arse. John grinned and shoved Sherlock off but Sherlock launched himself back at John. They collided with a crack- and a laugh.

Ten minutes of play-fighting later and both men leant against the front of the sofa, John's head resting on Sherlock's shoulder.

"What do you think Mrs Hudson thinks she heard?" John panted. Sherlock chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

"Something she should never be caught thinking about." He smiled. John grinned and they both tried to get their breath back.

"You know, I think I'll have bruised ribs tomorrow." John commented lightly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"_You _will have bruised ribs? I haven't been on the end of a punch that hard since the Golem." Sherlock smirked.

"I'm sorry about that one, sorry. You took me by surprise and I-"

"Shush. I was joking." Sherlock interrupted, wrapping an arm around John's shoulder.

"Sorry." John sighed.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop apologising."

"Sorry."

"John." Sherlock groaned. John smiled cheekily and nuzzled into Sherlock's neck. Sherlock smiled softly.

"Deal or No Deal?" He asked, reaching for the TV remote. John groaned. Sherlock really wasn't a romantic.

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_**A/N:**_** Did you like it? Let me knooooow! **


	36. Get clean

_**A/N: **_**Oh, well... Really screwed this one up. Couldn't come up with a better idea of how to do this...**

**Also, apologies on the lack of the 'L-word'... It'll come along soon! I'm just... Well... Being mean, I guess. **

**Hope you like it, let me know!**

* * *

Sherlock glared down at the box and needle in front of him. It had probably just ruined everything. Sure, his brain felt so much clearer and yes, he felt good. But he hated it. Hated what he had just done.

A bead of blood seeped out of the crook of Sherlock's arm. He didn't bother to swipe it away. It would simply mock him, smeared across the back of his hand.

"Sherlock? I got the-" John's cheerful greeting was cut off. Sherlock couldn't bear to raise his head.

"Please, don't." Sherlock murmured. John nodded curtly, dumped the bags and slammed the door behind him as he stormed from the flat.

**Come back. X –SH**

Sherlock knew that John had gone to sit on a bench down the road to cool off.

**Can't. Really, really can't. Later. x – JW**

Sherlock sighed.

**Yes you can. X- SH **

There was a longer pause before this reply.

**Can't. Will end up doing something I'll regret. Give me a bit, please. x – JW**

Sherlock mused this, his thoughts painfully clear.

**I won't let you regret anything. I deserve it. X – SH**

It was true. He deserved to be kicked, punched, and screamed at. Sherlock wanted John to be angry. Neutral John was a bad thing.

**Yes, you do. On my way back. Its cold- didn't take a jacket. x - JW **

Sherlock smiled. The door opened.

"Thank you." Sherlock told John. John nodded and sat opposite Sherlock.

"Why?" He asked. Sherlock paused.

"You weren't here." He admitted quietly. John had been at Harry's house for a couple of days over her birthday. The loneliness had nearly killed Sherlock. He'd become unaccustomed to it.

"That's… Not a great excuse." John sighed.

"I know." Sherlock agreed.

"If you're… Starting that up for good again. I'm not- I can't sit there and let you." John replied.

"I'm not."

"I've heard that before."

"Not from me."John sighed

"Look, I'm going to my room. I'll talk to you later." He felt blank. It was Harry all over again. All that hurt and anger. Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"I'm not- I'm not like her, John. And thank you." Sherlock told him quietly. A small smile tugged at John's lips.

"Then get clean." John shrugged, leaving the room. Sherlock smiled as he watched John walk up the stairs. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Want to know a little secret? I actually had the 'L-word' bit in this chapter, but cut it out because it didn't fit ;) **


	37. You fool

_**A/N: **_**I'm not giving anything away! **

**But this may be the last/ second to last chapter... If you want me to write more, let me know! **

**Hope you enjoy this one, it took me a very long time to come up with it :)**

* * *

John hadn't been one for smashing things. But that damned leather box and the syringes encased were destroyed in one minute of rage.

"Good job." Sherlock's smile was teasing, yet guarded. John rolled his eyes and held out a hand, which Sherlock curled his own around instantly. They were okay.

"I've done it all before." John reminded him quietly.

"Me too."

"Seen it all, done it all. Quite a pair, aren't we?" John's lips turned up. Sherlock grimaced.

"Cheesy." His mouth twisted.

"Shut up. At least I didn't suggest matching boxers." John shook his head in dismay.

"They were purple! I like purple." Sherlock protested.

"You were going to get them to stitch 'Property of S Holmes' on my pair." John reminded him.

"Perfectly acceptable." Sherlock protested. John smirked.

"Imagine what Lestrade would say if I just happened to bend over and my pants showed." John chuckled.

"He shouldn't be looking." Sherlock shrugged.

"What if he did it by accident?" John raised an eyebrow.

"I'd only cut off a few fingers, then." Sherlock replied. John had to check that Sherlock was smiling. He sounded worryingly serious.

"Only a few? Sherlock, I'm wounded." John grinned.

"It would be more, but he gives me cases." Sherlock explained. For some reason, John understood.

"I suppose he would need fingers to text you." John admitted.

"He might end up like Mycroft- he could have Sally do all his work." Sherlock smiled at the idea.

"She'd hate that." John chuckled. He could just imagine how much sourer Sally would be. Sherlock grinned and tugged at John's hand, intending on pulling them both over to the sofa. John stood firm, a cheeky smirk on his face.

"Remind me again why I put up with you." Sherlock groaned.

"Because you love me." John froze. _Why _would he be so stupid?

"I suppose that is correct." Sherlock simply shrugged, pulling at John's hand again.

"What?"

"Honestly, John. Don't your ears work?" Sherlock tutted.

"Did you just say that you-"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded "Now come and sit."

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, did you mean it?" John gaped.

"Yes, you imbecile." Sherlock sighed, tugging at John's hand impatiently.

"Oh. Um. Thanks. I… love you too." John stumbled over the words. Sherlock grinned.

"I know that, you fool. I'm not the world's only consulting detective for nothing." He teased.

John smiled back and allowed himself to be lead over to the sofa and curled into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock kissed him gently, and John smiled even more.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Was it okay? I hope you like it! Big reviews for me using the 'L-word'? ;)**


	38. Beginning to get annoying

_**A/N:**_** The wonderful Mycroft has returned! **

**I'm still not sure whether to continue, let me know what you think!**

**And let me know ifyou like this one! **

* * *

Mycroft frowned.

"Well, that was unexpected." He admitted. John frowned; taking his hand out of Sherlock's to itch his cheek. Sherlock watched Mycroft intently. Mycroft simply sipped his tea.

"What?" John asked. Both brothers turned to face him as if they hadn't expected him to talk. "What?" John frowned.

"Nothing." Sherlock mumbled, sharing a look with Mycroft.

"Seriously, what? You do realise I'm not stupid enough to think that you're not up to something, don't you?" John asked.

"Nothing, dear." Sherlock teased.

"Cheesy." John rolled his eyes.

"_Seen it all, done it all_-"

"Pants!" John protested.

"Intriguing." Mycroft smirked.

"Shut up." Sherlock frowned.

"Just tell me." John demanded. Mycroft looked up.

"No." He frowned.

"Please?"

"No."

"Sherlock?"

"Definitely not."

"I'll shave your head in your sleep." John threatened. Sherlock paused. His eyes narrowed.

"You wouldn't dare." He growled.

"Try me." John shrugged.

"You won't, John. You adore his hair almost as much as he does." Mycroft deduced swiftly.

"Fine. I'll… Move to Harry's." John pursed his lips. Sherlock looked panic stricken and glanced at his arm.

"And risk Sherlock's health? I highly doubt that." Mycroft smirked. John groaned.

"Okay, you win." He sighed, getting up and wandering in the direction of his room. As soon as he was gone, Mycroft turned to face Sherlock.

"You think he would agree?" Mycroft asked.

"Of course." Sherlock muttered. He detested having to talk to Mycroft. He especially hated having to ask him for anything.

"And his customers?"

"John isn't prejudiced." Sherlock waved the comment away. Mycroft nodded.

"Close to home, I suppose?" Mycroft asked.

"Preferably."

"And I assume you want it kitted out?" Mycroft tutted. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Of course I do." He snapped.

"Good. Fine. Perfect. It'll be ready by Friday." And with a flick of his umbrella, Mycroft left the flat.

* * *

"Jo-oo-hn."

"What?"

"It's Friday." Sherlock called.

"Correct. Well done. I'm glad your brain still works." John replied, massaging his head. It ached like hell.

"Well, come on then. I don't see why you're still sitting around." Sherlock jostled. John sighed and pulled on a jacket.

"Go on then, where are we headed?" John asked as Sherlock bundled them both into a cab.

"Not telling."

"This is beginning to get annoying." John protested.

"No it's not." Sherlock smiled, his knee bouncing up and down with impatience.

* * *

They pulled up at a small building only four minutes later and hopped out of the taxi.

"Evening, gentlemen." Mycroft stood in the opened doorway.

"Hullo." John replied, as Sherlock didn't look like he was up for replying.

"Go on in then, Sherlock. I'll leave. Just had to set in a few last personal touches." Mycroft rolled his eyes and took his leave.

"Come on. It's cold." Sherlock smiled, pulling John into the building.

It took John a moment to regain his breath. The surgery was kitted out with everything. On the wall was a plaque.

_Dr J Watson_

"I know it's tacky, but you know my brother." Sherlock smiled at John's reaction.

"God, Sherlock. I- Thank you!" John spluttered, reaching up and pulling Sherlock's mouth down to his own. Sherlock chuckled into the kiss but pulled away.

"You work when you want, no shifts. Just send out a page to all your regulars and whoever needs you will turn up." Sherlock explained.

"I have regulars?"

"I've already given them pagers." Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlock, I really do love you."

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Let me know if you liked it!**


	39. This might sting

**_A/N:_ Sorry for taking so long! Been in trouble at school... And at home... **

**But yeah, I decided to do this chapeter at least. Might wrap it up soon. Not sure. Let me know what you think?**

**Aslo, some little points:**

**1) It may surprise you, but I am actually English. So the 'Brit-slang' I use, I actually use in real life. **

**2) Yeah, I'm a girl :)**

**So, hope you like this one.**

* * *

John tugged at the stitches on a pleasant little teenager's face. The kid had been knifed a couple of times while trying to nick a TV.

"Ouch. So you're that Sherlock man's friend?" Theo asked.

"Something like that. Your face is done; I'm going to start on your shoulder." John informed him.

"Wicked. Those are some potent drugs, by the way." Theo smiled dopily. John smiled back and grabbed some disinfectant.

"This might sting." He warned. Theo just shrugged. So John got to work on the shoulder.

"So why'd Holmesy buy you this joint?" Theo drawled.

"A gift." John replied.

"Did you save his life or something? I shoved him out of the way of a taxi. He gave me a watch. Got nicked." Theo asked.

"Something like that." John nodded. Theo pursed his lips as John did something to his arm.

"He's a bit of a dick, but he can afford a nice watch." Theo commented. John snorted out a chuckle.

"Yep, he's a dick. Your shoulder should be fine. Might sting for a bit." John informed the boy. Theo smirked.

"Can't feel a thing." He replied.

"You will tomorrow." John warned him grimly. Theo shrugged again.

"Am I done?" He asked. John nodded and helped Theo sit up. The boy rolled his shoulder around a bit and screwed up his face.

"How do you feel?" John asked.

"Pretty high." Theo grinned. John nodded and grabbed at his pager and quickly messaged Theo's… Well, it was an older boy who looked a lot like Theo. Brother, maybe? John didn't know. Nor did he think it appropriate to ask. The door to the clinic opened and said older boy loped in.

"Hey, Doctor W." Jamie smiled.

"Evening, Jamie." John replied.

"How's he doing?" Jamie asked.

"Theo will be fine in a few days. Bed rest and lots of painkillers." John smiled.

"Nice. Ready, bro?" Jamie asked. Theo nodded.

"See you round, Doc." Theo called.

"Not too soon, I hope." John called and the two boys bundled out of the clinic. John smiled to himself and began tidying things away. The clinic was a nice place for quiet. That was, of course, when his regulars weren't screaming. So John packed away his kit and cleaned down the surfaces.

"Meticulous." Sherlock's voice made John jump and he thwacked his head on the countertop.

"Holy-"

"Busy evening, then? I was expecting you home over an hour ago." Sherlock smiled, reaching out and rubbing the spot that John had hit.

"Ouch! Gently, Sherlock. And yeah." John scolded lightly. Sherlock chuckled and pulled John into his arms.

"I'm glad you were having so much fun that you forgot we were booked in for a dinner at Paulo's around about… Now." Sherlock grinned.

"Oh crap. Sherlock I'm-"

"Don't. I'm far happier knowing that you're happy." Sherlock interrupted, pressing his face into John's hair.

"Ugh, don't sniff my hair." John groaned.

"I don't see a law against it." Sherlock objected.

"Well, I'm making one." John smiled.

"Your hair smells bad." Sherlock teased.

"That's because I followed you round for a day and a half and then got an emergency call here." John protested quietly, closing his eyes and relaxing into Sherlock.

"Hm. Sounds like someone needs to go to bed." Sherlock decided.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Blah, blah, blah, blah :)**


	40. Gone completely mad

_**A/N:**_** I've been watching too much _Come Dine With Me_...**

**Dinner party time! Haha!**

**Also, I randomly feel the need to ask you guys if you'd be amazing enough to leave a review with what you want more of in it :)**

**Just so I know what you like/ Don't like! **

**Hope you like this one, though!**

* * *

There was a moment- a split second- that Sherlock thought John had gone completely mad.

"Invite everyone here?" He repeated, in shock. John nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, it's nearly Christmas, so we could have everyone over for a pre-Christmas dinner." John shrugged, pausing at pulling on a knitted jumper to assess Sherlock's reaction.

"But I don't want to." Sherlock frowned. John chuckled and pulled the jumper over his head.

"You don't have to want to; you'll just have to get over it." John explained. Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"Who are we inviting, then?"

"Your family, my family, Mrs Hudson. I was also going to suggest Lestrade." John listed, patting down his hair.

"Lestrade?"

"Why not? He's a friend." John shrugged.

"Is he?" Sherlock frowned.

"Well, he's my friend, at least." John pursed his lips. Sherlock mused this.

"And I suppose that means I can't invent a case to run off to?" He sighed.

"It'd be hard to, with Lestrade there." John smiled.

"I suppose so."

"But you'd have to behave." John warned.

"As long as I don't sit next to or across from Mycroft." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Fine, done deal. Now than, who exactly are we inviting?" John smiled.

"Mummy, Mycroft, I suppose Leanne-"

"Who?"

"His aide, the one with the Blackberry glued to her."

"That's her real name?" John was surprised.

"Gosh, no. That's her name today. She updates me- not that I care in the slightest." Sherlock explained.

"Oh."

"Anyway; your father, Harry, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mrs Lestrade- I'm not inviting any spawn." Sherlock listed.

"Spawn?"

"Children."

"Didn't know they had any." John stated.

"A girl, I believe." Sherlock shrugged.

"That's nice." John smiled.

"Is it? Where will we fit all of these people?" Sherlock quickly changed the subject.

"We could borrow Mrs Hudson's table and chairs." John suggested.

"True. What should you cook?"

"You're not going to help, then?"

"No."

"Sheppard's Pie?" John shrugged. It was his best dish.

"Lovely. Would you like to make the calls or shall I?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. There was a cheeky glint in his eyes.

"I'll do it. Don't want you being rude to everyone." John sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket.

* * *

"John?"

"Hello, Mycroft." John replied.

"How can I help you?" Mycroft sounded concerned.

"Just wondering what you and… Leanne are doing on Saturday." John watched as Sherlock threw a knife at the wall and cringed.

"Nothing of importance, may I ask why?"

"We were wondering if you were up for coming round, and if you could bring your mother." Sherlock spun around and mouthed _We? I don't want him!_ John bit back a chuckle.

"For what occasion?" Mycroft didn't sound eager.

"None, just dinner with family and friends." John explained.

"Certainly. We shall see you there."

"Th-" The line went dead. "He hung up on me!" John exclaimed.

* * *

"John."

"Dad."

"What can I do for you?"

"Do you want to come over on Saturday? You, Harry and mum?"

"Sure."

"Lovely, see you then."

* * *

"John, what's he done this time?"

"Nothing, honest. We were wondering if you and the missus would like to come over for dinner on Saturday." John smiled.

"You're not trying to top me, are you?" Lestrade sounded worried.

"No, God no. Just having people over." John promised.

"Alright, fine. See you then."

* * *

John smiled as Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Hello, dear." She grinned.

"Afternoon, Mrs Hudson. Sherlock and I were wondering if you would like to come up for dinner on Saturday." John asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"That'd be lovely, dear!" Mrs Hudson cried excitedly.

"Would you mind if we borrowed your table, though?" John asked, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Of course, of course!" Mrs Hudson smiled.

"Wonderful! We'll see you Saturday." John grinned.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Hope you liked it! :)**


	41. You left the door open

**_A/N:_ I must apologise for taking so long. My computer got a virus and... Well... I nearly died. **

**But here is the first part of the 'dinner party' storyline. **

**Please let me know if you like it!**

* * *

John grabbed at the recipe, frustrated and exhausted. Sherlock watched from across the room, his hands nimbly buttoning up his favourite shirt.

"Pass me the salt?" John asked. Sherlock simply gaped, as if John had asked him something ridiculous. "No? Thanks, Sherlock. Very helpful." John muttered, spinning violently and grabbing the salt. He twisted back and dashed some salt in the glass dish.

"Smells nice." Sherlock offered weakly, sliding himself onto the table they had hefted up the stairs and rubbing his hands violently across his face.

"Off the table." John shouted. Sherlock raised his hands in surrender and jumped down from the table. John picked up the food and put it back in the oven. Sherlock smiled as John wiped a hand across his forehead.

"Hard work?" He grinned impishly. John scowled.

"I want you to sit down, watch TV and if you dare move, I'll have you castrated." John sighed. Sherlock glanced down nervously. "I'm serious." John added.

"Go on then, have a quick shower." Sherlock sighed, wandering over to the sofa. John smiled briefly, pursed his lips and ran as fast as he could to the stairs.

* * *

When he came back down, Sherlock was closing the oven.

"Sher-"

"I was checking!" Sherlock interrupted.

"Oh. Thank you." John smiled slightly. Sherlock flung the oven gloves off and shook out his hair.

"That jumper is nice. Suits you." Sherlock replied distractedly. John rolled his eyes.

"Is the food okay?" He asked.

"Fine, perfect, under control." Sherlock nodded.

"Brilliant." John beamed.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Sherlock's head snapped up.

"Delilah." He deduced. That meant Mycroft and Mummy Holmes had arrived too. John checked the time on his phone. They were exactly on time.

"Sherlock-"

"Behave, be nice, and don't mention the spiralling weight problem. Thank you, John, but you sound like my mother." Sherlock interrupted, launching to his feet. John followed. Just as he was about to open the door, Sherlock grabbed John's hand.

"Good evening." He smiled, swinging the door open. Mycroft cocked his head slightly, but made no comment.

"Hello, darling. And good evening John! My goodness, you must have cleaned up." Mrs Holmes was already in the living room. Mycroft, Delilah and Sherlock had left John with a 'Why don't you come on in?' on his lips. And so, he closed the door and followed them in.

"I had Sherlock try and clean up this morning. I ended up with more mess than I'd have started with." John smiled warmly. Mycroft smiled.

"I found the skull." Sherlock protested.

"You let him keep that?" Mrs Holmes gaped. John smiled sheepishly.

"Drinks, anyone?" He offered.

* * *

Lestrade was next, popping his head around the door.

"Hello?" He asked.

"Hello." John grinned.

"You left the door open." Lestrade informed them.

"Oh, did I? Thanks." John jogged over and shook hands with Lestrade who was followed by a very worried looking woman.

"John, this is Tanya." Lestrade introduced. John smiled kindly at the woman.

"Jo-oo-hn."

"And that's Sherlock." Lestrade added, pointing to Sherlock bounding towards them.

"John! Oh, hello." Sherlock grinned as he saw the newcomers. He held out a hand for Lestrade and smiled politely at the woman.

"Do you enjoy working as a nurse, then?" He asked.

"Sherlock." John warned. Sherlock waved him away.

"Very much so." The woman replied quietly.

"Wonderful." Sherlock smiled "Lestrade-"

"It's _Greg_, Sherlock." Lestrade interrupted.

"_Is it_? How odd. Anyway, _Greg_ here has told me a lot about you." Sherlock lied.

"Please, come and sit down." John rolled his eyes and led the way into the living room.

"Gregory." Mycroft was on his feet and shaking Lestrade's hand before John could blink.

"Hello, Mycroft." Lestrade was grinning.

"It's been far too long, hasn't it?" Mycroft asked "And Tanya! I adore that new haircut. It truly brings out your eyes." Sherlock gritted his teeth beside John.

"He knows my Lestrade. I should have realised." Sherlock muttered. John bit back a giggle.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, love. Been sorting out some serious knitting issues." Mrs Hudson had let herself in, interrupting Sherlock mid- crazy deduction about Delilah.

"Mrs Hudson!" Mrs Holmes jumped up and hugged Mrs Hudson like an old friend.

"Mrs Hudson, this is Greg, Tanya, Mycroft, Delilah and I suppose you know Mrs Holmes." John smiled. Mrs Hudson greeted them all warmly, commenting on Lestrade's lovely eyes, Tanya's wonderful dress, Mycroft on his manners, Delilah on her smile and Mrs Holmes on… Well, Mrs Hudson and Mrs Holmes sat together and chatted.

* * *

There was another knock on the door and John felt his stomach lurch. All eyes turned expectantly to him. He sighed and walked to the door.

"John!" Harry bundled into his arms. John chuckled and hugged his sister. Then his father held out a hand.

"Alright?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, thanks. You?" John shook his father's hand.

"I'm good, thanks." Thomas smiled.

"John." John's mother stepped into the flat, a huge grin on her face.

"Mum." John grinned back, hugging his mother.

"My goodness, John. You look so good! How is your shoulder?" She smiled up at him.

"Fine, fine. How's the-"

"I'm fine, thank you." Mrs Watson smiled back.

"Well, come on then." Harry jostled and they all walked into the kitchen.

"Right then, which one of these lovely men is Sherlock Holmes?" John's mother asked, scanning the room. Lestrade spluttered out a laugh and Mycroft's lips twitched.

"That would be me." Sherlock stood, a brilliant smile spread across his face. Mrs Watson looked him up and down, and then turned to John.

"Well, he's a catch." She winked.

* * *

**_A/N:_ So, did you like it? Let me know!**


	42. Stop distracting me

**_A/N:_ I'm back! And I must apologise for the delay! Gosh.**

**You see, I have my Drama GCSE Mock in... 2 days and the real deal in 9 so I've been rather busy sorting that out. **

**But here we go! **

**Hope you like it **

**(Reviews make me write faster!)**

* * *

Dinner was set on the table and John watched nervously as everyone took their first bites.

"Wow, John! I didn't know you could cook!" Lestrade grinned. John blushed. Sherlock smirked. Mycroft observed them. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother. Mycroft didn't flinch.

"Sherlock I think you should give them back." Mycroft finally stated. Everybody looked up. Sherlock groaned.

"No."

"It's theft." Mycroft's look didn't waver.

"It's temporary!" Sherlock protested.

"_Sherlock_."

"Fine!" Sherlock reached into his pocket and dropped a handful of rings on the table.

"_Sherlock_!" Mrs Holmes looked scandalised.

"What? I simply wanted to deduce-"

"You cannot steal people's rings!" Mrs Holmes interrupted.

"I take Greg's badge often enough." Sherlock pouted childishly.

"You what?" Lestrade frowned.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, for goodness sake! Mycroft, you ruin everything!" Sherlock scowled, pushing away from the table and stalking into the kitchen. All eyes went to John who had- admittedly- been rather enjoying the argument.

"I'll... Go see if he's okay." John sighed. He followed Sherlock into the kitchen.

"I despise Mycroft." Sherlock greeted him. John rolled his eyes and pulled Sherlock into his arms.

"I thought I asked you to behave." He mumbled against Sherlock's collar bone.

"I am behaving." Sherlock replied, pressing his lips to John's hair.

"Theft isn't good behaviour." John protested.

"It wasn't theft. It was borrowing." Sherlock put his hands in John's pockets.

"Stop distracting me." John scolded.

"Me? Distract you? That was most certainly not the plan." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Come on, you. Back to dinner. And apologise." John smiled, moving away and holding out his hand. Sherlock took it and they walked back to the table.

"I apologise." Sherlock stated, sending a glare to Mycroft, and sat back in his seat. He instantly began shovelling food into his mouth.

"John, you should feed him more." Mrs Watson scolded.

"I do try." John smiled, sitting back down himself.

They ate in silence for a moment.

Then, something flew across the table at high speed.

Mycroft deflected the pea with noticeable ease and scowled at Sherlock.

"How childish." He stated calmly.

"I thought it was a good shot." Lestrade offered.

"Thank you, _Greg_." Sherlock smirked.

"Boys, stop being so childish." Mrs Holmes scolded. Even Lestrade hung his head.

And then another pea flew at Mycroft.

"Sherlock!"

Another pea.

"_Sherlock __Sherrinford Holmes_!" Mrs Holmes cried. Sherlock froze.

"Sherrinford?" John frowned. Sherlock shot him a look.

A pea flew at Sherlock.

"_Mycroft Siger Holmes_!" Mrs Holmes swung round to glare at her older son.

"I knew it'd end up like this." John groaned.

* * *

**_A/N: _Sherrinford Holmes is supposedly the eldest Holmes brother and Siger Holmes is Sherrinford, Mycroft and Sherlock's father. This is according to canon... I think... Anyhow, let me know if you like it!**


	43. I think it's time we left

**_A/N: _I'm exhausted, but I wanted to upload... **

**THANK YOU FOR THE 3OO REVIEWS!**

**Special mention to '_Google Eleanor' _for the 3OOth review! **

**Please keep reviewing, however terrible it is :)**

* * *

"-And then Sherlock decided to tackle me instead of the thief! So there we were, sprawled on the floor and John walks up with the guy in an arm lock!" Lestrade broke off in an alcohol induced giggle, as did most of the room. John, Harry, Mycroft and Mrs Watson laughed along with the others.

"You cut me off!" Sherlock protested.

"Because you told me to run!" Lestrade replied, patting Sherlock's shoulder patronisingly.

"Touché." Sherlock slurred. Mycroft rolled his eyes and jabbed Delilah- who was snoozing on his shoulder- with his finger. She grunted, but didn't move. John sent him an understanding look. Thomas Watson was snoozing against Harry whose head was lolling against her mothers even though she was sober. It did happen to be about midnight.

"You know, I think I like the in-laws." Mrs Holmes smiled wonkily. Mrs Watson snorted and grinned.

"We like you too, dear." Mrs Watson assured her.

"Good, good. That's very good, isn't it, Mycroft?" Mrs Holmes sang.

"It is, mother." Mycroft nodded, indulging his mother.

"Will we be expecting grandchildren any time soon?" Mrs Holmes asked. John, Mycroft, Mrs Watson and Harry choked on their drinks. Sherlock was suddenly very sober and the rest of the room (those that were awake) gaped.

"Mother, we are both men. That is impossible." Sherlock frowned.

"Are you?" Mrs Holmes swayed drunkenly on the spot. "But I'd always thought you were such a pretty girl."

Lestrade nearly wet himself laughing.

"_Mother_!"

"I think it's time we left." Mycroft decided, sending Sherlock a sympathetic glance. He pulled out his phone and texted Delilah, who jumped from his shoulder.

"Oh, right. Uh. The car is waiting." She muttered sleepily. Lestrade and Tanya helped (still sniggering) to drag Mrs Holmes out to the car. John's family and Mrs Hudson left hastily too, after seeing the look in Sherlock's face.

"Jo-oo-hn." Sherlock held his head in his hands and groaned in despair. John smiled and sat on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

"Come on, Sherlock. They were so drunk that none of them will remember." John cooed. Sherlock made a sad little noise in the back of his throat and leant into John.

"I'm tired." He grumbled.

"And very drunk. Bed time." John announced. He was already preparing for a very, very moody Sherlock in the morning.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Oh, Mrs Holmes. Stay off the Sherry.**


	44. Tea or coffee?

**_A/N:_ A short little 'morning after' type chapter.**

**Hope you like it, let me know!**

* * *

"John?" Sherlock groaned. From across the room where he was putting on a shirt, John sighed.

"Yes?" He asked.

"I'm not in a good mood." Sherlock replied, rolling across the bed and groaning.

"I suspected that you wouldn't be." John replied, patting down his hair.

"Don't go to work." Sherlock begged.

"I have to." John smiled gently. Sherlock made a sad sound in the back of his throat.

"My head hurts." Sherlock decided. "I'm ill. And as my boyfriend you are obliged to look after me." John chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. Sherlock's arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back until John was lying across Sherlock's stomach.

"You have a hang-over, Sherlock. I'm not obliged to look after you if you're hung-over." John murmured, lifting a bony hand to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to it.

"I'll kidnap you." Sherlock replied, tightening his grip around John.

"Sherlock _Sherrinford_ Holmes! You let me go right now, mister!" John teased. Beneath him, Sherlock froze.

"How do you know my… Oh God." Sherlock groaned.

"Do you remember the whole night?" John couldn't help but smirk.

"Yes." Sherlock murmured.

"I think you're pretty just the way you are. Not sure I agree that you'd make such a pretty girl." John turned to grin down at Sherlock who turned his face away and pouted.

"Shut up." He moaned. John smiled and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair, untangling a pea.

"Oh shush, Sherlock. I love you just how you are. Now let me go!" John struggled a little against the arms clamped around his stomach.

"Not letting go. Stay." Sherlock grumbled.

"Sherlock." John protested weakly.

"Stay." Sherlock ordered, releasing John, only to sit up and pull John into a kiss. John chuckled as he pulled away.

"No." He smirked. Sherlock pulled him back up into another kiss, rolling them both so that John now lay beneath him.

"Stay." Sherlock growled. John smirked up at Sherlock and pulled him down for another kiss, threading his hands into Sherlock's hair.

"Tea or coffee?" He panted, pulling away with a wink.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Tea or coffee ;)**


	45. You'll faint

**_A/N: _I know I haven't updated in a while... Please don't shoot me!**

**I've had some stress with Drama, English and History GCSE's and such and well... It took some time.**

**Also, thank you for the unexpected reviews for _Burning Grief_. It was a very nice, unexpected little surprise that rather made my day. **

**I rather love Lestrade so I decided that he should be in this chapter.**

**Why the hell not? ;)**

**Let me know if you like it and I'll update mucho faster!**

* * *

John sighed, pulling some medical thread and a needle from his pocket. Sherlock sent him a look.

"It was going to happen one of these days." John explained, swinging his leg up onto the chair opposite the one he was sitting in. Sherlock nodded swiftly and helped John to roll up his trouser leg.

"Damn, John. That's a nasty one." Lestrade looked over Sherlock's shoulder and cringed. John chuckled lightly.

"It stings, I'll admit." John began to thread the needle, not bothering to watch as Sherlock wiped away the blood with a handkerchief Lestrade had handed him.

"I should bloody well hope it does. If that doesn't sting, God knows what would." Lestrade replied, squinting down at the nasty, deep gash on John's leg. John rolled his eyes and moved to start the stitching.

"Are you squeamish?" He asked, pausing.

"Me? I'm a Detective Inspector, John. I see dead people every day." Lestrade protested.

"You don't like needles." Sherlock drawled, his eyes never leaving John and his hand randomly darting out to clean blood from the wound.

"I'm fine." Lestrade sent Sherlock an irritated glare. John pursed his lips and pushed the needle into his leg. He hissed, but continued. Lestrade paled considerably.

"Sit down." John ordered, wincing as the needle bit a little too deep into his leg.

"What?" Lestrade frowned.

"Sit down. You'll faint if you don't." John sighed. Lestrade sat promptly.

"John, your hands are shaking." Sherlock murmured. John nodded, dismissing the point. Sherlock gently put his hand on top of John's and guided it through the stitching. Lestrade swayed in his seat.

"Sherlock, shove his head between his knees. Breathe, Greg." John ordered. Sherlock looked as if he were about to protest, but John's level look forced him to turn. Sherlock shoved Lestrade's head- not so gently- downwards.

"Breathe." He muttered. John pulled the last stitch tight and swore gently. He quickly cut the thread and surveyed Lestrade.

"Greg, breathe." He told Lestrade softly. Lestrade looked up, grimacing.

"I am breathing, you tit. I'd be dead if I wasn't." He muttered. Sherlock thwacked him on the back of the head.

"That wasn't the best thing to do, really. Was it?" John grumbled, swinging his leg back down and lifting himself to his feet. Lestrade let out a loud sigh and sat up.

"Thanks for the babysitting, Doc, but I've got some paperwork to do." He smiled, pushing himself to his feet. John held out a hand and Lestrade took it, pulled it and shoulder- bumped the smaller man.

"What-"

"I'm ghetto." Lestrade winked. "Oh, and see you, Sherlock." And he was gone. Sherlock frowned and tugged John's trouser leg back down, clambering to his feet.

"You shouldn't have kicked Porter. You knew there was a knife." Sherlock regarded John for a moment, his stare worryingly hard.

"I wasn't going to just let him stab you, was I?" John protested. Sherlock considered this.

"I'd have been marginally happier if you had."

"I wouldn't have been." John shrugged. Sherlock pursed his lips, then reached out and tugged John forward by the collar of his shirt.

"Stop saving me." He smirked, smashing his lips down onto John's.

"Never." John muttered against Sherlock's lips, kissing back with equal force.

"Touché, for now." Sherlock grinned.

* * *

**_A/N: _Let me know what you think!**


	46. Revenge is sweet

**_A/N: _A hideously short chapter, sorry. **

**It's just... The idea made me giggle a little...**

**Also, I'm thinking of writing a one shot based around Sherrinford Holmes (It will be sad, like _Burning Grief_, I'm afraid) but I'm not sure about it... **

**Let me know if you think it's a good idea!**

**And as usual, please review!**

* * *

"Oh sweet Jes- are you really having a fencing match?" John gaped, not believing his eyes. Neither Holmes' brother looked at John, simply continuing to strike, parry and lunge.

"It's one thing we have in common, John. A rather extensive knowledge of the sport." Mycroft explained, swooping out of the way of Sherlock's violent strike.

"Oh, come off it." John scoffed.

"Shut up, John." Sherlock muttered, parrying a particularly sneaky lunge by Mycroft.

"Just mind Mrs Hudson's table." John tutted, collapsing into a chair and picking up a book. It wasn't too difficult to read with the sounds of foils colliding.

"Oh, come now, Sherlock. Where has your technique gone?"

"Wherever your waistline went."

"Touché. Honestly, though. There is no wrist work th-"

"Ha!"

"This suit cost five hundred pounds, Sherlock."

"For all the materials needed to fit around your-"

"Ah, revenge is sweet."

"Mycroft! John bought me this jacket! You utter-"

John put down his book and looked up. Mycroft's suit had the seams of the right arm sliced open and Sherlock's jacket had a lovely tear in the lapels.

"Sorry, John. I'll replace it." Mycroft called.

"I should bloody hope so!" Sherlock growled, lunging.

John sighed.

Oh bloody hell.

* * *

**_A/N: _So, did you like it? ****And do you like the idea of the new one shot?**


	47. Payback successful

**_A/N:_ Very sorry I haven't updated in a while, Drama took over my life for the past week, but it is now over and it is half term! **

**Thank you very much everyone who reviewed 'The Silence' you are all wonderful :)**

**And... I hope you like this chapter, I guess...**

**Also, spam-reviews are very welcome! The more reviews the better, because I love to hear what you think! **

* * *

John couldn't believe it. The bloody cheek of it!

"I'm not driving us back in this, Sherlock!" He protested. Sherlock merely folded himself into his side of the Police car and sat waiting.

"Come on then, John." Lestrade called, about to hop in his own Police car.

"I don't want to drive this!" John shouted back.

"Well all my officers are busy; do me a favour, would you?" Lestrade asked. John gritted his teeth.

"You owe me one hell of a drink." John replied. Lestrade grinned.

"Outta boy. See you back at the station." Lestrade called, sliding into the car and speeding off. John climbed into his side of the Police car and shut the door.

"Well, go on then." Sherlock prompted. John sighed. He reset the seat, checked the mirrors and tested the lights.

"Seatbelt." He reminded Sherlock.

"Must I?"

"Yes."

"Spoilsport." Sherlock grumbled. John rolled his eyes and pulled the car out of the car park.

"Right, going to tell me what you think?" John asked, turning left down some bland country road.

"If the husband has a pair of green shoes, he did it." Sherlock drawled, his head lolling against the headrest. "It was too easy. Boring. I'm bored, John."

"Why are green shoes important?" John frowned.

"By the body there were flakes of leather that were dyed green. Don't be dim." Sherlock muttered.

"Oh."

"I'm bored, John."

"Why don't you-"

"_DI Lestrade, do you come in_?" Sherlock and John both froze at Anderson's voice coming through the Police radio.

"_Anderson? Yeah, I hear you._" Lestrade replied.

"_Lovely. Did the freak give you anything?" _Anderson asked.

"_Who? Sherlock? Nothing yet. Bet he's solved it already, though."_ Lestrade replied.

"_You have too much faith in him. I bet he's the one that did it, and he's so smart he can cover it up." _Anderson replied.

"_Oh, shut up Anderson. Just because he outed you and Sally in front of a couple of officers-"_

"_Everyone knows! It's a wonder the wife hasn't heard it yet!" _Anderson protested.

Lestrade didn't reply.

Sherlock grinned.

"I knew Lestrade was good for something." Sherlock told John.

"_I can hear you." _John jumped at Lestrade's voice.

"God, Greg." John scolded.

"_It's just Greg_." Lestrade replied. John could just imagine him winking. Lestrade was such a wind-up merchant.

"You arsehole." John muttered.

"_I'll take that as a compliment. Right, boys, I'm back at the Yard. You close?_" Lestrade replied.

"We're about two and a half minutes away." Sherlock replied.

"_Good-oh. Take it around the back, I'll be waiting." _Lestrade turned off his radio with a click.

"Payback?" Sherlock offered.

"God yes."

* * *

DI Lestrade had always liked to think that he was fairly open-minded. Sherlock and John had been a bit of a shock, sure, but he was perfectly fine with them being _together_. It was just the fact that Sherlock was _with_ anyone that perplexed him.

He hadn't ever expected John and Sherlock to be kissing rather passionately in the back of his Police car when he wandered around to the Yard's car park to check that John had gotten the car back safely, so it gave him a bit of a shock. Lestrade wasn't sure what to do, so he simply knocked on the window.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, looking up innocently.

"D'ya mind not doing that in the back of my car. I might have to section it." Lestrade requested, his face bright red and he was shifting awkwardly.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Sherlock replied, smirking as he pulled a flushed John from the back of the car with him.

"_Do_ I need to section it?" Lestrade asked.

"Nah. See you tomorrow." Sherlock winked, dragging John from the Yard.

"Payback successful." John grinned.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Hope you liked it :)**


	48. Throwing knives

**_A/N: _There's rather a lot of angry John swearing in this one... **

**I felt the need to have some angry John :)**

**And a big YAY for reaching chapter 50!**

**I hope you like this one. It rather reflects a war I had with my cousin (but using pens)**

**Also, I'm thinking of doing another chapter to 'Burning Grief', what do you think?**

**Let me know if you like it! **

* * *

"Holy shit!" John shouted, ducking just in time to miss the switchblade hurtling directly at his left eye.

"I can assure you, shit is not considered holy. And impeccable reflexes, by the way." Sherlock grinned.

"You utter git." John grumbled, plucking the knife from the wall.

"I've been called worse." Sherlock winked.

"Want me to throw this back at you?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Go for it." Sherlock offered. John moved the blade into his right hand, aimed a little above Sherlock's brow and launched it. Sherlock slid down in the chair just in time for the blade to slice off a curl of hair and stick in the wall. "Bugger." Sherlock muttered.

"Serves you right." John shrugged.

* * *

At the station, John was on his way over to remind Lestrade about the bloody big drink he owed when a switchblade flew through the air and nicked the shoulder of his jumper. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.

"Blast!" He yelled.

"Blast?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow, picking up the knife. He waved it at Sherlock who ducked from the room.

"I'm trying to bring it back." John replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, old school." Lestrade chuckled.

"Funny." John muttered, snatching the knife. "Now about that drink. I think I need it."

"It's midday and I'm on shift, you nutter." Lestrade protested.

"My boyfriend is trying to knife me. I need a drink." John replied.

"Why _is_ he throwing knives at you?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Does he abuse you, John?" He added cheekily. Lestrade just managed to dodge the palm aimed at his shoulder.

"Sod off. He's just trying to prove a point." John replied.

"A point?"

"That he has better aim than me."

"I see." Lestrade lied.

* * *

"Two beers, mate." Lestrade requested. The barkeep nodded. John sighed.

"If he tried to throw one at me here, I swear to you I'm going to hit him." John muttered.

"'S all right. If he tried to throw a knife at you here, I'll arrest him." Lestrade grinned.

A knife embedded itself in the bar.

"Oh for-"

"Holmes, hands in the air!" Lestrade shouted, pointing his gun at Sherlock, who simply fled the pub.

"Right, that's it." John decided, slamming down his full pint and storming from the pub, despite Lestrade's protests.

* * *

Sherlock was caught unawares, for once. John had him pinned up against the wall and kissed him violently.

"I suppose you've given in, then?" Sherlock gasped as John attacked his collar bone. John didn't reply, instead moved his mouth back to Sherlock's, mashing their lips together.

"I'll take that as a yes." Sherlock growled.

A knife pinned Sherlock's left shoulder to the wall.

And then John smirked, winked and left the room.

For once, Sherlock Holmes was speechless.

* * *

_**A/N:**_** Ooh, cheeky tactics from John.**


	49. Like a brother

**_A/N:_ I'm going away for a few days, so I was desperate to get this one out. **

**It's not such a happy one...**

**But there we go, it was the best I could do.**

**Thank you for the reviews for 'How Ironic' they made me very happy :)**

**Please review!**

* * *

"He was in your troop, wasn't he?" Sherlock asked softly, frowning at the face of the young man on the news. John, who had frozen in his place on his sofa, nodded slowly.

"Bradley." He murmured. "Bradley Reid."

"He died instantly." Sherlock read off of the screen. John shook his head slowly, anger clouding his features.

"No, no he didn't. They never die instantly. There's always someone there fighting to save their life. They always die in pain." John explained. Sherlock nodded, and placed his hand on John's shoulder. John flinched. Sherlock removed his hand, carefully stopping the hurt from showing on his face.

"He was close to you." Sherlock decided. John froze.

"Yes." He nodded after a while.

"Was he as close as-?"

"No, no." John shook his head, still staring at the screen. It had changed to a news report of a burglary. Not that John cared. "Not like us. Like a brother."

"He saved your life." Sherlock observed. John nodded, his hand absently tracing a scar on his side.

"Twice." John replied. Sherlock walked over to the television and turned it off. He then sat opposite John and looked him calmly in the eyes.

"Tell me." He requested softly. John shook his head. A tear rolled down his cheek. It took Sherlock a lot of self-restraint not to reach out and wipe the tear away. Even he could tell that it would only make John flinch away.

"I- I can't." John shook his head violently, swiping the tear away.

"Yes you can. Tell me what he did." Sherlock replied, reaching out as if to put a hand on John's knee, then pausing. His hand hovered in mid-air. Then John grabbed it.

"There was a roadside bomb. Brad reacted quicker- he threw himself on top of me. He took the blast. I- I had to dig metal out of his back." John smiled sadly. Sherlock squeezed his hand.

"And the other time?" He asked.

"When I got shot, Brad was the first one there. He killed the-" John broke off with a sob. Sherlock tensed himself completely. He would not try and hug John. He had to restrain himself. But John leant forward and pressed his face into Sherlock's chest. Relaxing, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and rubbed his back gently. John sobbed, taking in the chemically smell of Sherlock.

"I suppose I have a lot to thank Bradley Reid for." Sherlock murmured against John's hair.

"Wha-"

"By the sound of it, I wouldn't have you if it weren't for him." Sherlock explained. John snorted.

"If he'd have heard you say that, he'd have slapped you. He was too modest." John smiled gently into Sherlock's collar bone. Sherlock smiled softly.

"Rather reminds me of a soldier I know. He's saved my life more than a few times, you know? And he thinks nothing of it. And he knows that I love him, but he doesn't always believe it." Sherlock murmured. John looked up. Sherlock continued to smile gently, and wiped the tears from John's cheeks. John chuckled sadly to himself, and then ran a hand through Sherlock's hair.

"I love you, Sherlock. God- I love you." He murmured.

* * *

**_A/N: _I know I don't usually do sadish ones (I save that for my random oneshots) but I wanted to do this... Did it work?**


	50. Feet off the chair

**_A/N: _I woke up very early to write this because I'll be gone to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere with no internet for four days and I wanted to leave you with a new chapter. **

**Please review, because it'll make my exile (not really, but it feels like it) better!**

**Hope you like it!**

* * *

"Sherlock bloody Holmes."

"I should really use that as my middle name. People mistake it so often." Sherlock drawled.

"Sherlock! Lestrade just called, you cannot lock Anderson in his shed!" John shouted. Sherlock raised his eyes innocently.

"Me? I did nothing of the sort." Sherlock replied.

"There's CCTV of you there." John lied.

"No there's not, I disab-" Sherlock cut himself off and glared at John.

"So you did?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I did. You heard what he said about the case, he needed to be silenced." Sherlock smiled.

"Silenced?" John asked.

"As best I could without killing or injuring him." Sherlock sighed, as if disappointed.

"You…. Utter knob." John sighed, running a hand through his hair. Sherlock grinned and launched out of his chair. He rooted around in the kitchen and produced something with an 'Aha!'. He handed it to John.

"The lock." Sherlock smiled proudly. John frowned at the twisted metal in his hand.

"What did you _do_ to this?" He asked.

"It was very weak. I just twisted it." Sherlock shrugged, crouching on his chair.

"Feet off the chair." John mumbled absently, turning the metal over in his hand.

"Sorry." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So you really did lock Anderson in a shed?" John asked.

"Yes, I thought that would be obvious even to you, John." Sherlock replied.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Your charms never cease to amaze me." John grumbled, throwing the twisted lock at Sherlock, who dodged it and chuckled.

"I'm a sociopath, John. I have no charms." Sherlock reminded John.

"God knows why I fell for you, then." John grinned. Sherlock poked out his tongue and jumped up, heading for his room.

"I have something, John!" He called from his room.

"A tendency to be very rude?" John suggested. Sherlock's head poked around the corner for a second and glared, and then he disappeared back into his room.

"No, I have something… Something I can't find." Sherlock replied. "Aha!"

"Got it?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock wandered back into the room, hiding something behind his back.

"Go on then, what've you got?" John raised an eyebrow.

"I saw it, and I wanted you to have it." Sherlock explained, passing John a cream knitted jumper. John chuckled.

"Thank you, Sherlock." He grinned. Sherlock blushed.

"That's alright." Sherlock replied.

"_But_."

"That doesn't sound good." Sherlock frowned.

"I'll only take it if you take this." John reached inside his pocket and revealed his dog- tag. Sherlock sighed.

"John I-"

"No. You're having it. End of. You've got me a ring and I want to give you this. Please?" John asked. Sherlock pursed his lips, and then took it from John's hand.

"Thank you, John." He smiled, leaning in for a gentle, quick kiss.

"Thank you too, Sherlock." John chuckled, pulling Sherlock down for another kiss.

"Curry?" Sherlock offered. John groaned.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Yum, curry. **


	51. Getting less predictable

**_A/N:_ Finally, I'm home! And I had absolutely no ideas while I was away, so I came up with this on the spot. **

**Yeah, I'm an idiot.**

**But I hope you guys are up for a little Anderson tricking :) **

**And more Lestrade, because I do rather like writing him into things...**

* * *

"Pick a colour."

"Got one."

"Blue."

"Yep."

"Pick a country."

"Got one."

"France."

"Right."

"Pick an object."

"Got one."

"Ooh… The rug. Good, you're getting less predictable John." Sherlock grinned, running a hand through John's hair as John leant into his shoulder.

"I think that's a compliment, so thank you." John smiled, pulling himself from Sherlock's arms- after a pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock's temple- to get up and get a drink. Then, the door flew open and Lestrade bounded in.

"Evening, Greg." John called.

"Alright, John?" Lestrade greeted breathlessly. "Sherlock, I've got an arrest warrant."

"Well, that's good. Thank you for telling me. Do you want a certificate?" Sherlock drawled, swinging his violin onto his shoulder and plucking at the strings.

"It's a warrant to arrest you, Sherlock. For assault and attempted kidnapping." Lestrade continued. John chuckled from the kitchen.

"Took you long enough." Sherlock grumbled.

"I have to arrest you, Sherlock."

"So you've said."

"Can you please take this seriously?" Lestrade sighed.

"Yes, Sherlock. _Be serious_." John teased, wandering back into the room. Lestrade sent him a glare. Sherlock grinned, but raised his hands in surrender.

"I'll go quietly." Sherlock replied.

"I doubt that." Lestrade muttered.

"I'll text Mycroft, shall I?" John offered. Lestrade's eyes widened.

"Please don't. God- anyone but him." Lestrade replied. John chuckled.

"What's so bad about Mycroft?" He asked.

"I could give you a list." Sherlock drawled.

"Not you." John scolded, thwacking Sherlock's shoulder.

"He'll rip us to shreds. Our lawyer's can't take him on." Lestrade grumbled. Sherlock chuckled.

"I'll be my own lawyer." He offered.

"God no." Lestrade ran a hand through his hair and collapsed down into a chair.

"Just convince Anderson not to press charges." John offered.

"Easier said than bloody done." Lestrade muttered.

"I have an idea." Sherlock decided, springing from the chair he was currently sitting in and grabbing his phone from the mantle.

"Oh no you-" John cried, realising what Sherlock's 'idea' was.

"Sally? Oh, hello. _What on earth could you be doing with Anderson this evening_?" A pause. "Mhm. _Right_. I'm sure he _does_ need your help to locate his cat. Now, if you don't mind, I need a word with him." Another pause. "No, Anderson I'm not harassi- Now listen here- I took it from Lestrade's phone- No- _Just shut up_! If you do not drop the charges- No, shut up- If you do not drop the charges, I'll cut off Lestrade's ear." A long pause, in which John had to muffle a chuckle. "Yes, he's here. Greg, say something." Sherlock commanded. Lestrade grinned. Sherlock held out his phone.

"Anderson? Anderson do what he says- fuck, this guy's a psychopath!" Lestrade cried, adding a dramatic whimper at the end.

"Sociopath!" Sherlock corrected, putting the phone back to his ear. "Oh, you will? Wonderful. Tell Sally to scrub her knees this time." And Sherlock hung up.

"You bastard. I bloody love you." Lestrade grinned.

"Now now, inspector. We don't want John here getting jealous. He's a crack shot, I'll tell you that." Sherlock smirked. John just rolled his eyes.

Typical Sherlock.

* * *

**_A/N: _There you go :) Review please :D**


	52. You know I don't like beer

**_A/N:_ If you're wondering about the random (part of a) _Blake_ poem in this chapter... It's a reference to_ The Mentalist _that I wanted to chuck in there, because I was watching _The Mentalist_ and thought: Sherlock Holmes and Patrick Jane meeting up would be so amazing, the Universe might just explode...**

**AND OVER 400 REVIEWS? I LOVE YOU ALL :D**

**Keep them coming ;)**

**Hope you like this one... It was a bit last minute, as usual.**

* * *

"Tyger, Tyger, burning bright in the forests of the night, what immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?" Sherlock mumbled, staring into the distance. John watched, smiling as Sherlock paused, unsure of how to continue.

"In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes?" John suggested.

"Ah! On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?" Sherlock smiled, continuing. "And what shoulder, and what art, could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, what dread hand? And what dread feet?"

"Blake. Why?" John interrupted, leaning back against the wall as he tied his scarf around his neck. Sherlock leant back, the silver of the dog-tag shining against his skin. John smiled.

"Something- a riddle. I think… _I think _it's to do with the references to fire, but I just _can't_…" Sherlock explained, pulling a pained expression. John chuckled slightly.

"It's alright, Sherlock. I'm sure you'll get it by the time we're home." He promised, gesturing to Sherlock that they had to leave. Sherlock groaned and pulled himself to his feet. He didn't want to go, but John had threatened- yet again- the demise of his skull.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the booth at the pub with John, glaring at the full pint in front of him.

"What?" John asked, swigging the last of his beer.

"Too many adulterers." Sherlock grumbled. "And you _know_ I don't like beer."

"Fine, go get a coke." John shrugged, sliding his wallet across the table. Sherlock glared at it for a moment, and then decided that it was worthy to be held in his hand and wandered over to the bar.

Half an hour later, John decided he'd better go looking for Sherlock.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Sherlock, where the _fuck_ are you?" John growled.

"John, I'm at the flat with my can of coke." Sherlock replied, as if it were obvious.

"You what?" John growled.

"I'm at home, with the can of coke you told me to buy." Sherlock replied.

"I'm going to kill you." John snarled.

"I'll enjoy watching you try." Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm coming home. Be prepared for hell." John hung up.

* * *

"John."

"Yes?"

"Are you armed?" Sherlock asked.

"No."

"Good." Sherlock grinned, launching himself across the room. He pushed John up against the wall and kissed him. Hard. John shoved Sherlock away.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Me saying sorry." Sherlock smiled.

"Oh, so that's how you say sorry now, is it? Thanks for the memo." John replied sarcastically, but a smile was creeping up on the edges of his lips.

"Sorry." Sherlock repeated, leaning in for a softer kiss. John turned his head so that Sherlock ended up kissing his cheek, but smiled.

"Apology accepted, you idiot." John muttered. "Now, do you have any coke left? I'm gasping."

"_Gasping_? Oh, yes, John!" Sherlock cried.

"What?"

"The riddle!"

"How does gasping-"

"Doesn't matter. Need to text Lestrade. Oh, John, you genius."

"Thanks." John rolled his eyes and grabbed Sherlock's can of coke. Some things just weren't going to change.

* * *

**_A/N:_ In all honesty, I had no riddle, so giving you no answer was simply due to this... Sorry about that :)**


	53. The first aid kit

**_A/N:_ Sorry that this has taken quite a while... I have mocks all of next week so I've been stuck doing revision.**

**Someone- I can't remember who, sorry- asked for more Harry and I worked from that for the idea for this chapter.**

**A little bit of a Harry and John chat.**

**Hope you like, please review :)**

* * *

"Does he have health insurance?" Harry asked, nodding across the flat to where Sherlock's shirt sleeve was on fire.

"Under the tap, Sherlock!" John called, then turned back Harry and shrugged. "I doubt he's going to die any time soon. You should see him in a fight."

"I'd rather not." Harry pulled a face. John chuckled gently.

"Since when have you been a pacifist?" He asked.

"Since Clara told me she was sick of me starting on people when I was pissed." Harry replied, smiling sadly. John smiled sadly back.

"Jo-oo-hn!"

"What?" John frowned.

"I need some eggs." Sherlock replied.

"Go to the shop." John rolled his eyes at his sister and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He then lobbed it backwards at Sherlock's head. Sherlock plucked it from the air and grinned.

"You do realise his arm is burnt, don't you?" Harry asked. John raised an eyebrow and turned, but it was too late. The door closed behind Sherlock as he swooped from the flat.

"Bugger." John muttered. There wasn't much he could do now until Sherlock got back.

"Doesn't that hurt him?" Harry asked. John shrugged, picking up his cup of tea.

"Who knows?" John replied.

"You know, I didn't expect you to ever be so domestic." Harry smirked. John groaned.

"I'm not domestic." He protested.

"Yes you are. You're sitting here _comfortably_ drinking tea in _your flat_ that you share with _your boyfriend_. That's pretty domestic to me." Harry replied.

"What? You expected me to be homeless and lonely?" John raised an eyebrow.

"No, no. I just figured you'd eventually get off your high horse and come and stay with me. You knew I was sober." Harry shrugged. John pursed his lips.

"If it's any consolation, I was seriously considering it before I met Sherlock. I- I was getting depressed." John revealed.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't." Harry smiled softly, patting John's hand. John smiled back.

The door burst open.

"John, I think my arm needs treating." Sherlock declared. Harry raised an eyebrow. John just sighed and wandered over to the first aid kit he kept in the kitchen. There was one in every room. Harry followed him, probably out of curiosity. Sherlock cradled his arm to his chest, eyeing the bright green first aid box suspiciously.

"Come on then, let me see it." John held out his hand. Sherlock looked even more suspiciously at the hand. "Oh for goodness sake, Sherlock, we go through this every time you hurt yourself." John scolded. Sherlock grumbled to himself, but held out his hand.

"Don't worry, Sherlock, John used to try and bandage me up when we were kids." Harry offered, leaning against the side.

"I'm sure he did." Sherlock grumbled. John peeled back what was left of Sherlock's sleeve and assessed the sore, blistered skin of Sherlock's arm.

"Harry in that draw you're leaning on, there's a roll of Clingfilm. Can you grab me about enough to cover the burn?" John asked.

"Yes sir, Doctor, sir!" Harry saluted. John rolled his eyes and caught the Clingfilm that Harry had thrown. John wrapped the burn in the Clingfilm and then patted Sherlock's cheek.

"All better." He smiled.

"It hurts."

"It will." John rolled his eyes.

"Not a very good doctor, are you?" Harry smirked.

* * *

**_A/N: _Ooh, Merlin is on, see ya :)**


	54. Backhanded

**_A/N: _Boo.**

**I HAVE GCSE's ALL WEEK! So I will be struggling to update, but I managed this sneaky one... **

**It's Lestrade-centralised... (If that makes sense)**

**Hope you like it, let me know- your reviews will make exam week much better :P**

**Also, I've deleted the Matty chapters (If you have no idea what I'm on about... Don't worry) **

**And I've changed the ones related to him...**

**Just realised what a mistake those chapters were... **

* * *

"You know, the Yard isn't your bedroom, Sherlock." Lestrade called. Sherlock jumped out of his sleep and assessed where he was: lying partially on Lestrade's desk and partially on his chair. Shit, his back hurt.

"Meh." He grunted, pulling out his phone.

**19:34 Where are you? X –JW**

**20:10 Sherlock, I ordered pizza. Saved you one, hurry up! X –JW**

**20:56 Sherlock? X –JW**

**22:19 Sod it, I'm going to bed. If you're dying, I'm going to feel like such a shit. X –JW**

Sherlock smirked.

"Right then, want to tell me why you're here?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock groaned again and sat up. His back cracked so loudly that Lestrade cringed.

"I honestly cannot remember. What time is it?" Sherlock grumbled.

"Half eight." Lestrade replied, checking his watch.

"Nice watch. Stop talking to Mycroft._ I_ could buy you better stuff. He's conning you." Sherlock muttered, still waking himself up. Lestrade blushed and slid his sleeve down.

"Look, Sherlock, just tell me why you're here." He grumbled.

"_I don't know_." Sherlock snapped, his brain taking agonisingly long to work.

"Did you get pissed last night or something?" Lestrade asked, putting his briefcase down and shrugging off his coat. Sherlock sniffed the air around him.

"No." He frowned. Lestrade frowned too.

"Drugs?" He asked gently. Sherlock scowled.

"I've been clean for months." He spat. Lestrade held his hands up in surrender and yawned.

"So, any idea _at all _why you're here?" He smirked.

"No."

"Want me to call John to pick you up?" Lestrade offered.

"Yes."

"Okay." Lestrade rooted around in his pocket for a moment and produced some change. "Go and get a coffee- or a Coke, or whatever. I'll call him." Lestrade ordered. With a groan, Sherlock stumbled out of the room, grabbing the change as he went. Lestrade collapsed down in his chair and pulled out his phone, pausing to muse. The last time Sherlock had slept in his office was after a brutal argument with Anderson. The time before that, Sherlock had been done for drugs, but his brother had gotten him off the charge. There were many times Sherlock had slept in Lestrade's office, but that had all stopped when John came along. Lestrade dialled.

"Greg?" John answered.

"Alright? I think I've found something that belongs to you." Lestrade replied.

"Sherlock?"

"Yep, asleep in my office when I came in this morning. Bloody sod had got through security." Lestrade explained.

"God- thanks. He just went off the radar last night. Mrs H told me he'd argued with Mycroft pretty badly last night. She said someone was shooting." John replied.

"Two guesses to work out who was shooting." Lestrade chuckled lightly.

"Is he okay?" John asked.

"Yeah. Tired, disoriented and probable back-ache, but he'll be fine." Lestrade replied, deciding not to add '_it's not the first time he's done it.'_

"Thanks. I'll be up in a minute." John replied. Then there was the dial tone. Sherlock shuffled back into the office, his hair all over the place.

"Want to tell me why you were shooting at your brother?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock shut the door and sat opposite, nearly spilling coffee all down himself.

"No."

"_Sherlock."_

"I said no." Sherlock snapped.

"John's worried." Lestrade replied gently. Sherlock looked up guiltily.

"I was pissed off. I didn't want to shout at John." He explained. Lestrade nodded and smiled gently.

"John doesn't mind. He was just worried that you'd gone and gotten yourself killed." Lestrade explained. Sherlock drank his coffee. Lestrade pulled out his laptop.

Twenty minutes later, John walked in, back-handed Sherlock across the face, and then pulled him into a kiss. Lestrade didn't even look up.

"You git." John breathed. Sherlock rubbed his jaw.

"You've been going to the gym!" He grumbled.

"No, just chasing you around God-knows-where." John replied. "Morning, Greg." He added.

"Morning." Lestrade smiled.

"See you later, then?" John asked.

"If you're lucky." Lestrade winked. He didn't miss the look of gratitude- one not commonly seen- on Sherlock's face as they left. As soon as the door closed, Lestrade sighed. He supposed that Sherlock would never be simple to understand.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Listening to Mumford and Sons... BRB.**


	55. Laxatives

**_A/N:_ Hullo, it's me!**

**You know, that person that really should update more?**

**Anyhow... I updated! Yipee!**

**And I am very tired- this is the reason for such a disjointed, random chapter...**

**Please review!**

* * *

"What is this?" Sherlock gaped. John frowned and looked up from his book at the telly.

"I believe _they_ are The Chuckle Brothers." John replied.

"And they let young children watch this monstrosity?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, they do." John nodded.

"Dear God. This is the kind of thing they play to captured soldiers." Sherlock had paled considerably.

"No, they play Barney, I think. _That_ is torture." John mused.

"What's a Barney?" Sherlock frowned.

"Something hideous." John shivered dramatically. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but said no more. He reached into his pockets in search of his phone. Instead he produced three of Lestrade's badges, one of John's headphones- severed from a pair, and then a packet of peanuts.

"Hm." He grinned, picking up the packet of peanuts and chucking them at John. They landed in John's lap. "Don't eat them." Sherlock ordered.

"Why?"

"I might have done something to them- I can't remember." Sherlock shrugged.

"Right." John pursed his lips and held the packet to his nose. He sniffed cautiously.

Nothing.

"Oh, actually, I _did_ do something to them." Sherlock nodded to himself.

"What did you do to these?" John asked, launching the packet back at Sherlock. Sherlock snatched it from the air with perfect, casual ease. He sniffed it.

"Ah, I added laxatives and resealed them… I was trying to- disadvantage a drunken suspect." Sherlock screwed up his face. John chuckled.

"I have an idea." He smirked.

* * *

"Anderson!"

"Yeah?" Anderson skidded to a halt and turned to Lestrade.

"Have you had your break yet?" Lestrade asked.

"No- I've been at the scene of the Higgins incident." Anderson replied, holding up the evidence bags in his hands.

"Oh, well, dump those off and have a break." Lestrade ordered. "Oh and here. That case I just went on was at the pub. Landlady said I needed fattening up- I think she was blind." Lestrade pulled a packet of peanuts from his pocket and threw them to Anderson who caught it and shoved it in his own pocket.

"Thanks." Anderson frowned.

* * *

Lestrade grinned as he pulled up the CCTV on his laptop. He settled back in his chair and gestured for John and Sherlock to look over his shoulder.

Anderson sat down at his desk and took the packet of peanuts from his pocket.

"Whatcha got?" Sally asked.

"Peanuts. Greg got them." Anderson shrugged. Sally pursed her lips and shrugged. Anderson grabbed his coffee and took a big swig, then opened the peanuts. Looking around guiltily, he sniffed them first. Anderson then took a peanut from the packet and observed it. Obviously deciding it was safe Anderson popped it into his mouth. A few minutes later, the packet was empty and Anderson was typing distractedly.

Then his stomach groaned.

"Fuck." Anderson gasped, launching himself from his desk, towards the gents.

And Sherlock, John and Lestrade were in hysterical laughter up in Lestrade's office.

* * *

**_A/N: _Laxatives- always fun... **


	56. Time for Bed

**_A/N: _I feel like Anderson- or at least, someone not quite so severly lacking an IQ...**

**But yes, apologies for the lack of updates... Who knew school meant working?**

**So, anyway, it's a short chapter based around the Deathly Hallows excitement (in an very nonsesical way) as I'm seeing it tomorrow!**

**And it's crap because I am tired and we have no coffee. **

**Please review and I'll do this instead of homework ;)**

* * *

John turned another page of his book and frowned. There was a hole in the middle of the page, about the size of the piece of paper currently over Sherlock's right eye as he tested some chemical on it.

"Why, on earth, would you do that?" He growled.

"Hm?"

"You cut my book!" John cried. Sherlock merely looked up and frowned.

"Did I? What one?" He asked.

"Harry Potter!" John grumbled.

"Isn't that a children's book?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"No! Well… Ye- probably. I don't know." John protested weakly.

"Mhm. Stop reading children's books, John." Sherlock replied distractedly.

"It's not a child's book!" John replied.

"Prove it." Sherlock challenged. John raised his eyebrow as Sherlock stood, removed the piece of paper from her eye and moved across the room to settle next to John, his head on John's shoulder.

* * *

"_And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hands, staring down at his enemy's shell_." Sherlock- torn between being thrilled by the book and lulled to sleep by John's voice- grunted softly.

"It's okay. Bit predictable, though." He murmured sleepily. John smiled gently and looked at his watch. It was about nine in the evening and, to be fair, they had been on a case for the past few days.

"Come on, you." John ordered softly "Time for bed."

* * *

Sherlock curled around John the second he got into the bed.

"John?" Sherlock asked, most definitely nearly asleep.

"Yes?"

"I love you- you know that?" Sherlock mumbled into John's neck.

"I know, I know. I love you too. Go to sleep." John chuckled, pressing his face into Sherlock's curls and snuggling in. John only noticed that Sherlock was snoring ever-so-slightly as he drifted into unconciousness, and kissed Sherlock's head, smiling dopily.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Omnomnom Voldemort...**


	57. Clothing Choices

**_A/N: _Hullo, I'm back! And updating quicker!**

**I just saw Harry Potter... I think I died... And I am very happy that Lupin is still alive (For now... When he dies I shall be depressed for a long time)**

**Hope you like this one- Please review :D**

* * *

"Well, well, well." Sherlock drawled, raising an eyebrow as he circled John.

"What?" John frowned, de-creasing his trousers.

"Very, very sexy. Too formal. We're going to see Mycroft, John, not getting married." Sherlock criticised, his eyes twinkling. John groaned.

"Right, what do you want me to take off then?" He grumbled.

"All of it?" Sherlock smirked. John glared.

"Not now, Sherlock." He snapped. Sherlock chuckled slightly.

"What is it with you and wearing sexy suits to go and see my brother?" Sherlock teased, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

"Stop it, you prick." John replied. Sherlock chuckled again and smoothed John's hair affectionately, leaning in to press a quick kiss to John's brow.

"Lose the blazer. I think I like the waistcoat, though. Oh- and borrow my coat." Sherlock decided, throwing himself onto the sofa. "Twenty-three seconds. Go!" John jumped and ripped off his blazer, lobbing it into the kitchen. He grabbed Sherlock's coat and shoved it on, doing up the buttons swiftly.

"Right then." John smiled.

"Twenty-four seconds. You're getting old." Sherlock drawled. John threw a book at Sherlock's head. Sherlock dodged it.

"Lovely. You look good. So, shall we?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and grabbed Sherlock's elbow.

"Uh- Sherlock?" John asked.

"What?" Sherlock replied impatiently.

"Sherlock, you're not wearing a shirt." John stated.

"Am I not?" Sherlock asked, perplexed. He looked down. John was quite correct.

"Nope." John chuckled.

"Damnation. Give me a minute- at the most." Sherlock muttered, leaping over the coffee table and into his room. He appeared less than a minute later with one of John's jumpers on over his favourite dark blue shirt. John almost laughed at the clothing choices. "Hand me that blazer?" Sherlock requested.

"My blazer?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, don't be dim." Sherlock replied. John rolled his eyes and grabbed the blazer. Sherlock snatched it and grinned, pulling it on.

"Right-oh, shall we be off?" John asked, moving to open the door.

"No." Sherlock blocked the doorway.

"What-?"

"False alarm- drill, if you'd prefer. We're just going to dinner." Sherlock replied.

"So we're not seeing Mycroft?" John raised an eyebrow.

"No." Sherlock replied. John couldn't help feeling relieved.

"Oh. I suppose I'd better take the suit off, then. It's not such a special occasion anymore." John teased.

"Don't you dare." Sherlock growled, kissing John rather violently for a moment. "That's my job." And he dragged John out the door.

* * *

**_A/N: _Ooh... Brownies? Haha see you later, my mother just gave me brownies :D**


	58. No coat

**_A/N:_ Terribly sorry for the delay! I was quite caught up with writing _How Ironic_ (Have a read, if you want) and sort of... Forgot about this one...**

**But I'm back and updating! **

**Also, quick shoutout to ScarlettWolfe for finishing 57 chapters way too fast! And does this mean you no longer steal my phone to read? ;) **

**And- for my own benefit: What on earth is a BETA? **

**Please review- because you're super cool... Or something ;)**

* * *

Sherlock frowned at the small woman thrusting a coat into his arms.

"The guy over there said to give it to you. He said you're an idiot for forgetting one, and he's not happy with you." The woman explained, giving Sherlock a brief smile. Sherlock took the coat and shrugged it on, watching as John's back disappeared around the corner, shivering. John was only in a shirt. And shivering. It must have been his coat. Sherlock was in trouble.

"Holmes, stop procrastinating, you usually like these ones." Lestrade shouted. The woman- who was still standing there, annoyingly- frowned.

"Suspected suicide. They're always fun." Sherlock explained, sweeping away and under the Police tape. He smirked as he walked towards Lestrade. He'd probably terrified that woman. Ha. Who said he didn't like to have fun?

* * *

John had to visit his mother. With no coat. It was -2 degrees and he had no coat. All because of Sherlock. He gritted his teeth and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, but it didn't help. John climbed the steps to the hospital and entered through the door. He was hit by a wall of heat and had to hold back a sigh of belief.

* * *

Sherlock swept into the flat and headed straight for the central heating. He then decided that the curtains needed a little… Reshaping and grabbed his pocketknife.

* * *

John was literally freezing as he tried to stop his hands shaking to open the door, but it opened for him and Sherlock dragged him inside. John shivered violently, sniffed, and shoved past Sherlock without speaking.

"John-"

"Sh! I'm cold." John grumbled.

"That doesn't stop your ears working." Sherlock smiled, shutting the door behind them both.

"It could make them fall off." John rolled his eyes. Sherlock grinned and pulled John into his arms.

"Why didn't you go home and get a coat?" Sherlock asked.

"I had to hurry." John muttered into Sherlock's shoulder- still shivering.

"So you took a detour to give me a coat?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John couldn't see it, but he got the point.

"I was worried." He shrugged.

"About?"

"You getting yourself ill." John replied, pulling away and sniffing. "God- I've got a splitting headache."

"It sounds, my dear Watson, as if I am not the one who's health should be worried about." Sherlock chuckled, pushing John in the direction of the sofa. John didn't bother to put up a fight as Sherlock sat down and pulled John into his arms.

"Just a common cold." John muttered.

"Of course it is. Now- John, how do I make soup?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know."

"I thought you were good at cooking." Sherlock frowned.

"Doesn't mean I can make soup, does it?" John grumbled.

"I assumed it did. But then- assume makes an ass out of 'u' and me." Sherlock chuckled at his own joke and flicked on the TV at a low volume.

Ten minutes later John was asleep on Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock had begun sniffling. Great.

* * *

**_A/N:_ I am ill diue to it being cold and figured: Meh, let's make some fictional characters ill too. **


	59. Is it chicken?

**_A/N: _It's snowing! Finally! Woop :D**

**Here are some ill fictional characters... The curtains will come soon.**

**Please review!**

* * *

John coughed.

Sherlock sneezed.

Mrs Hudson bustled through the door with two bowls of soup.

"That had better be chicken." Sherlock grumbled, wiping his nose. John elbowed him.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. You really didn't have to-"

"Its fine, my dear. Can't have my boys sitting up here all unfed!" Mrs Hudson waved John's comment away and set the soup on the table.

"Is it chicken?" Sherlock asked. "I can't smell anything."

"Mrs Hudson, thank you- but you don't want to stay up here too long you could catch-"

"Thank you very much, John, but I'm quite fine." Mrs Hudson smiled and patted John's forehead. "Oh, you're burning up!"

"Just a fever." John assured her, coughing.

"Yes, dear. And I'm the Queen of Norway." Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes.

"No really-"

"_Is this chicken_?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"Have you spoken to Harry recently, John?" Mrs Hudson asked, settling down opposite the sofa.

"_Haec gallina_?" Sherlock asked.

"No, she's in Malaga with a couple of friends." John smiled.

"_Est-ce poulet_?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh really? That's nice. And your mother?" Mrs Hudson smiled.

"_E 'questo pollo_?" Sherlock asked.

"Better, thank you. How's Ted?" John took a sip of his glass of water.

"Is this chicken?" Sherlock asked.

"He's wonderful, thank you. He's just joined the rugby team for his work." Mrs Hudson smiled. "Now eat your soup, dears. It's chicken."

"Thank you!" Sherlock sighed, digging into the soup enthusiastically. John joined him.

"Look at you, _Sherlock_. Isn't John feeding you?" Mrs Hudson smiled affectionately.

"I'm feeding him as best I can." John promised.

There was a pause as John and Sherlock ate, then Sherlock- full and sleepy- pulled John into his arms and settled into the sofa.

"Well look at you! Do you think I'll have married ones too, soon?" Mrs Hudson cooed. John choked.

"Maybe, who knows?" Sherlock replied smoothly.

"Lovely. Well, rest up boys!" Mrs Hudson grinned, getting up and smoothing Sherlock's hair. She left quickly, shutting the door behind her.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Mhm."

"Did you say that to shut Mrs Hudson up?" John asked.

Sherlock pretended to be asleep.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Dun... De dun dunn. Must be off... Got to learn a damned script...**


	60. Sparkle

**_A/N: _Sorry, sorry, sorry for taking so long. I've been pretty ill and haven't been able to get out of bed in the past 4 days...**

**But hurrah, I'm alive.**

**Crappy chapter- but still... I got a deduction in :)**

**Also, thank you for the reviews for _Brother Dearest_... It was a random one I put up...**

**Please review and make me happy :P**

* * *

"I see." John nodded. A pause. "No. No I really, really don't."

"That's because you're-"

"An idiot, but don't be offended because almost everyone is." John interrupted. Sherlock smirked.

"You're catching on, John. Good." Sherlock replied, patting John on the head patronisingly. John shoved his hand away.

"Sherlock, _please!"_ Lestrade frowned. Sherlock sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"If the cousin's wrists sparkle, he did it." Sherlock explained.

"Sparkle?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

"He's not Edward fucking Cullen, Sherlock." Lestrade snapped.

"Who?" Sherlock frowned.

"Unimportant. How the hell did you come up with that?" Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock grinned.

"Thought you'd never ask." He replied.

"Get on with it."

"I asked to see the loft when I first checked his flat, correct? He had a layer of insulation behind the door. It had been opened before we arrived- from the inside. And so, the murderer must have been hiding in it. Don't believe me? There was a footprint matching those downstairs. Now- the sparkling. Hold any foam insulation and you get shavings all over you. This particular brand has shavings that sparkle when the light hits them. Now, the killer would notice them and be intelligent enough to wash it off. But he wouldn't notice the shavings about his wrist as they would have been under his sleeves." Sherlock grinned.

"But it's been days!"

"The shavings will still be there. Trust me. Ask any builder." Sherlock drawled. Lestrade raised an eyebrow. John chuckled.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"That was fantastic." John smiled.

"Shush, you." Sherlock murmured affectionately, Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"Right. Well. Thanks, guys." He muttered- then Lestrade's eyes widened and he grinned at something behind Sherlock and John. "Good evening, Mr Holmes." He called. Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"I thought I smelt him." Sherlock hissed. "Distinctly- Hob Nobs."

"Incorrect, Sherlock. Custard Creams today- but only the one." Mycroft drawled.

"Congratulations. How many people did you have to use to block you from the rest of the pack?" Sherlock replied bitingly, turning to face his brother. Mycroft simply smiled.

"Good evening, John. Gregory." He greeted.

"Evening." Lestrade and John chorused.

"I should just carry a suit around with me." John muttered, just quietly enough for Sherlock to hear and wrap an extremely possessive arm around his waist.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"I was simply assuring that you were still alive- and that John was." Mycroft shrugged.

"You have lackeys. Why come in person?" Sherlock asked.

"To scold you. You've had my… My watch on edge. Please do not have tied up dummies of you and John hanging in your window." Mycroft scowled.

"They are not dummies. I reshaped the curtains." Sherlock replied.

"Right. Well." Mycroft pursed his lips.

"If we're quite done here." Sherlock replied, pulling John away.

"Don't forget to keep in touch." Mycroft called.

"Don't forget to keep away from the cake." Sherlock replied.

* * *

**_A/N:_ So... Hi there :D**


	61. Cosmetically enhanced breasts

**_A/N: _Well hello again!**

**This chapter was not entirely planned- but I wanted to answer a few questions and so...**

**1) I change my pen name a lot because I get ridiculously bored of them easily and it is the same as my Tumblr name thingy which I also change a lot.**

**2) That last deduction? Well, we have that type of insulation I described in my loft and after going into it, I noticed my hands were sparkling so washed them and, like in the chapter, I realised a couple of days later that it had gotten up my sleeves...**

**3) How do I want this to end? God, I don't know! I don't even know what I'm going to put in a chapter until I've written the first word... I'm not one to plan ahead... I'll just go with what I think works!**

**Finally- a vote for you lovely readers: Because I am undecided (and torn)_ DO YOU WANT JOHN AND SHERLOCK TO MARRY?_**

**Please review!**

* * *

"Look."

"What?"

"Her hair- it's different!" Sherlock cried. John, who had been snoozing against Sherlock's neck, looked up and shrugged.

"It's Anne Robinson- you're lucky she hasn't got new boobs or something." John replied and settled back next to Sherlock.

"You see, there is one thing I don't understand." Sherlock admitted.

"What?" John asked.

"Why women feel the need to enhance their breasts." Sherlock muttered. John chuckled.

"To be more attractive to men." He replied.

"But it's not attractive! It's vulgar! Have you seen this Katie Price woman?" Sherlock protested.

"Well, Sherlock. I don't think you've ever been attracted to women, so you can't really judge." John smiled.

"You have?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I dated Sarah." John shrugged.

"But there was no attraction there. Even I could see that." Sherlock protested. John shrugged again.

"She was nice."

"So… Have you been attracted to women?" Sherlock asked.

"Sure, yeah." John replied.

"Okay… Do you find cosmetically enhanced breasts attractive?" Sherlock smirked. John scratched his neck.

"Uh. No." He answered.

"There we go then." Sherlock pursed his lips. "Case closed." John chuckled at the absurdity of their conversation.

"_Have_ you ever been attracted to women?" John asked. Sherlock mused the point.

"I don't think so." He finally answered.

"Men?"

"No."

"Right." John pulled an amused face.

"Just you, John." Sherlock chuckled. "No matter how cheesy that sounds."

"I'm honoured." John grinned, turning his face and pressing his lips gently to Sherlock's. Sherlock kissed back gently, linking his fingers though John's and running his thumb across the ring. John, noticing this, reached up and pressed his hand to Sherlock's chest- feeling the cold of the dog tag against the warmth of Sherlock's skin. Sherlock broke the kiss and chuckled gently.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Bloop.**


	62. Peace Lily

**_A/N: _Hi guys! Sorry for the long break between updates...**

**But anyhow, I did it!**

**Now, down to business: YOUR VOTE**

**I haven't had the time (nor patience) to count them properly, but it is more or less 50:50, which puts me in a bit of an awkward situation. I do have a solution which might satisfy both sides of the arguement that I am willing to use but I'd love to hear some reasons for your votes! **

**It won't be happening for a couple of chapters, but I need a bit of a heads up because it's going to be complicated to write :D**

**Hope you like this chapter!**

**Please review!**

* * *

"Sherlock, don't you dare set fire to that plant!" John called.

"How did you-?"

"I can smell the matches." John replied, sighing as he eased himself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. Sherlock dropped his match reluctantly into the sink and thrust the flower into John's hands. John looked at it; a little bleary-eyed (it _was_ two in the morning, for goodness sake) and put it down on the counter.

"You don't let me have any fun." Sherlock pouted.

"I know, I know. I'm a horrible person." John replied sarcastically, flicking the kettle on.

"Self-deprecation leads to self-destruction, John." Sherlock warned sarcastically.

"I'll keep that in mind." John pursed his lips and nodded.

They both burst out laughing.

"You laughed first." Sherlock accused.

"I never did." John chuckled.

"Never matter." Sherlock waved a hand about dismissively. John giggled a little again and turned to pour some tea to stop himself laughing.

"You know, it's two in the bloody morning." John finally stated.

"Two seventeen." Sherlock corrected.

"Yes, whatever." John rolled his eyes.

"And your point was?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm _tired_. You _should be_ tired." John moaned.

"But I'm not." Sherlock shrugged.

"Come to bed?" John asked.

"But I'm not tired."

"But you're keeping me up."

"No I'm not!" Sherlock pouted.

"_And_ I'll not have you setting fire to that flower!" John scowled.

"Since when did you care about an insignificant flower?" Sherlock retorted.

"Since our landlady went out in the cold and the rain to buy it for us because you hadn't damaged her flat in over three weeks." John replied. "I'm going to bed, and I don't care if you're there or not if you're going to be a dick." And John left the room. Sherlock looked at John's untouched cup of tea for a moment before grabbing it, drinking some and pulling his phone from his dressing gown pocket.

* * *

When John woke up, a Peace Lily was sitting on the dresser opposite his bed. John blinked at it for a moment before rolling out of bed and stumbling his way across the room to have a look at it. He read the note left next to it.

_Gone out- will be in late. _

_Won't set fire to this one- it's yours._

_Also, there's one in the kitchen I thought you might want to give to Mrs H._

_We're out of bread and I don't remember whether you like white or brown, so I'll be buying both._

_SH x_

John chuckled and padded into the kitchen. True to the note, another Peace Lily sat on the countertop. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

Sherlock picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked.

"Come home." John requested.

"I'm busy." Sherlock replied.

"If inconvenient, come anyway." John retorted. He could almost hear Sherlock smirking. Sherlock hung up.

* * *

John was pulled into a hug from Sherlock.

"God, Sherlock. Don't give me a heart attack." He chuckled, pressing his face into Sherlock's shoulder.

"Sorry." Sherlock shrugged, smiling.

"No, I'm sorry for being a bastard yesterday." John replied, pulling away.

"What?"

"You didn't deserve that much bitching." John admitted. Sherlock smirked and pulled John into a long, deep kiss.

"Thank you." He grinned.

* * *

**_A/N: _Never google 'office plants'... And don't ask why.**


	63. Keys

**_A/N: _Yay for John bullying :P**

**Just a short one... I'm meant to be doing maths...**

**By the way... Well done whoever worked it out... The office plants thing was reverse psychology to see how many nutters actually did it :P**

**Please review!**

* * *

"Keys, John." Sherlock requested.

"You're on your phone." John protested.

"And?"

"You're only using one hand." John replied. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and gripped his phone with both hands.

"Keys, John." Sherlock repeated.

"I'm not your helper dog, Sherlock. You're not an invalid." John grumbled, reaching into Sherlock's coat pocket.

"Not that one." Sherlock drawled. John looked up at Sherlock with a glare.

"Are you serious?" He asked.

"When am I not?" Sherlock asked, holding John's glare for a moment.

"I swear I'm leaving you for your brother. He's far more considerate." John muttered, reaching into Sherlock's trouser pocket to grab the keys.

"Mhm. Just pack your suits and go." Sherlock replied without looking up.

"Thanks, Sherlock. I love you too." John snapped, opening the door.

"Any time." Sherlock replied, striding up the stairs and into the flat without a second glance at John.

"Bloody sociopath." John growled, slamming the door.

"You did choose to be his boyfriend, dear." Mrs Hudson smiled from her doorway. John nodded, but pulled a sarcastic face as she turned around mouthing 'dear'.

"Excuse John, Mrs Hudson. It would appear that he is on his period." Sherlock called from the top of the stairs.

"Shut up, you bastard." John shouted.

"Language, dear." Mrs Hudson scolded.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson. Sorry." John apologised, following Sherlock up the stairs.

"Language, dear." Sherlock mimicked, shutting the door behind John as he stormed into the flat.

"I swear this is some bloody conspiracy to wind me up." John replied, collapsing onto the sofa and kicking off his shoes.

"It's all a conspiracy!" Sherlock teased, throwing a cushion at John.

"Please, God! Please stop." John begged. Sherlock lifted John's legs and sat himself under them as John stretched himself out across the sofa.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock smirked.

"Do you know what? I'm too tired. I think I'm going mad." John replied, throwing an arm across his face.

"You're not. You're just living with me." Sherlock grinned.

* * *

**_A/N: _I'm tired... Okay?**


	64. Distracting a child

**_A/N:_ Hey there :)**

**Thank you for the random anon love on various sites... That made me very happy!**

**I figured we'd had a lack of Lestrade and Mycroft in the past few chapters so...**

**Also- the storylines... Yeah, I dunno... I have a lack of imagination.**

**Please review! Get in the christmas spirit? Or something :P**

* * *

"Sherlock, is that a butter knife?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"Good observation, inspector." Sherlock drawled, poking at Lestrade's burger with the knife.

"Why are you poking my food with a butter knife?" Lestrade asked.

"To see if it is poisoned." Sherlock replied, with a 'duh' expression.

"How could you possibly-?"

"Trust me, he can tell." John interrupted.

"And he does this a lot?" Lestrade asked, slouching on his greasy plastic, chain-burger-restaurant chair.

"Yup." John nodded, handing his own food over to Sherlock. Sherlock gave Lestrade's back. It was like John was distracting a child.

"No poison?" Lestrade asked, not so eager to eat his burger any more. It looked like someone had jumped on it.

"No poison." Sherlock nodded, busy poking John's burger.

"Does he carry that knife with him? It's a bit un-hygienic." Lestrade grimaced.

"No- he doesn't usually have a knife. I think he's stolen it." John shrugged.

"At least he has one." Lestrade replied, taking a bite.

"Some Policeman you are." John chuckled. Lestrade shrugged.

"It's not the worst thing he could be doing with his time." He replied.

"He's still here." Sherlock interrupted, sliding John's food back across the table.

"He wouldn't give it to me if it was poisoned." John explained.

"And that happens often?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Recently, yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Damn." Lestrade pursed his lips.

"It started with some fudge. Then people caught on." John rolled his eyes.

"Fudge?" Lestrade asked, obviously deciding that his burger needed ketchup.

"A gift from Mrs Hudson. Sherlock left it in the hallway over night." John rolled his eyes.

"An experiment?"

"I was too busy to pick it up." Sherlock waved a hand distractedly.

"Busy trying to fight off some hired thug. Got him, mind." John explained.

"Do you really want to be telling _me_ this?" Lestrade asked.

"You just dismissed theft. I doubt you're going to care about a minor ABH. And anyway, you're a mate." John dismissed.

"'Spose." Lestrade sighed.

Two hours later, John got a text.

**You'll be ordering your shopping through me, for now, I am afraid. Precautions and such.- MH.**

"Well shit." Sherlock growled.

"What?"

"It's Mycroft." Sherlock pouted.

"Yes?"

"And I don't like him."

John got another text.

**Thank you, Sherlock. My self-confidence is at an all time high.- MH.**

John chuckled, but pulled Sherlock into his arms.

"He's just worried about you- like me." John explained.

"I'd rather he wasn't." Sherlock grumbled. John smiled and reached up to peck Sherlock's nose.

"I'd rather he was, so he will." John smiled.

* * *

**_A/N:_ I'm already scheming for the next chapter... Which is a first...**


	65. Life is dull

_**A/N: **_**So it's snowing, I'm watching _The Mentalist_ and I'm pretty bored. Though you can't be bored when watching _The Mentalist_... Just saying.**

**Laura Denvir: Yes, I do ship Mycroft/Lestrade... Unless the story is extremely cheesy. In fact, I'm thinking of writing one... Opinion?**

**So, in honour of that review... A Mycroft and Lestrade centered chapter :)**

**Please review!**

**

* * *

**

**Sherlock, tell your brother to stop texting me. –GL**

Sherlock chuckled at his text.

**Getting some unwanted attention? -SH**

The text back was almost immediate.

**Lots. Tell him I'm married? –GL**

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

**It's not like you don't swing that way. –SH**

There was a pause between texts. Lestrade was at home- so he got full signal. There was no excuse for the pause other than some provoked emotion, Sherlock concluded. So he settled for watching John wander about the flat picking up random crap.

**Yes, but I'm married. What is it with you Holmes' and not understanding what that means? –GL**

Sherlock smirked.

**Marriage is the social institution under which a man and woman establish their decision to live as husband and wife by legal commitments, religious ceremonies, etc. –SH**

Another pause- longer this time.

**Damn you. Just tell him to leave me alone? –GL**

Sherlock considered it.

**No. I'm not your relationship guru. I'm not anyone's. Have you met me? –SH**

**Good point. Ugh. If the wife finds out another man is texting me… -GL**

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his phone across the room. It landed perfectly on the mantle.

"Who've you been harassing?" John asked. Sherlock pouted and pulled his dressing-gown tighter around himself.

"Nobody, thank you very much." Sherlock replied.

"Hm. Are you solving anything today?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head, his curls flying about.

"No. Life is dull." Sherlock replied.

"Want to play bejewelled? I can get my laptop." John offered, his arms full of Sherlock's most destroyed clothing. Sherlock supposed that he was throwing them out.

"We'll have to go shopping soon." Sherlock replied.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm running out of clothes." Sherlock explained.

"No you're not. I've ordered you exact doubles of everything I'm chucking. Mycroft was quite helpful in telling me where you get your shoes." John smiled.

"You, John, are not so stupid after all!" Sherlock grinned, pulling John into a quick kiss. John chuckled.

"Thanks. Not, if you don't mind- I've got to throw these out." He replied.

"Sure, fine. Oh- if you have a moment later, I need you to call Mycroft." Sherlock added, just as John was leaving.

"Why?"

"Nothing bad." Was all Sherlock answered, jumping up from the sofa and running up to John's room. John shrugged and continued his walk down to the bins.

When John got back up to the flat, Sherlock held out his phone.

"The second he picks up I want you to say: Leave Greg alone." Sherlock instructed.

"Then?"

"Hang up." Sherlock grinned.

"…Okay." John muttered, dialling.

"Hello, John. How can I-?"

"Sherlock says to leave Greg alone."

"What on ea-"

John hung up.

Across London, Mycroft Holmes stared at his phone in confusion.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Yay for more snow!**


	66. Being short

**_A/N:_ Oh dear, it's Christmas eve and I figured I'd give you an early Christmas present!**

**Everyone have a lovely Christmas, eat too much, drink too much, have a laugh and get everything you want!**

**I'm on chapter 6 of my Mycroft/Lestrade story, it's called After the Storm :)**

**Please review- it'll make my Christmas!**

* * *

"John, look at this!" Sherlock called. John sauntered into the room and looked at the television.

"What is Anderson doing on the television?" John frowned.

"He witnessed an assault." Sherlock drawled.

"Was it his own- by you? Because that was quite a while ago." John frowned.

"Which one?" Sherlock asked. John grinned and sat on the edge of the sofa to watch the interview, but Sherlock wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled John across his lap.

"A bit touchy-feely today, are we?" John chuckled, settling himself comfortably across Sherlock's lap.

"No." Sherlock replied defensively.

"What've you broken, then?" John asked.

"Absolutely nothing of yours." Sherlock replied.

"It's the laptop, isn't it?" John sighed.

"How did you know?" Sherlock gaped.

"I just do."

"This is an irrational question, but did you just read my mind?" Sherlock asked, seriously.

"No, I just know you." John replied.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked.

"I saw it. What did you do- smash it with a hammer?" John smirked.

"How did you see it? How? I- I made certain it was hidden-"

"On the top of my wardrobe?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you're not the tallest, John." Sherlock replied. John scowled.

"Don't bring that into this!" He protested.

"I'm sorry, John, but it's true." Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm 5' 7"!" John exclaimed.

"Correct." Sherlock nodded.

"Sherlock!" John cried.

""What?" Sherlock groaned.

"There's noting wrong with being short!" John replied.

"Well it's certainly a disadvantage." Sherlock decided.

"But short people can… Can… Hide better!" John protested. Sherlock snorted. John rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"You, John, are incredibly adorable." Sherlock smirked.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John grinned, pulling Sherlock down into a kiss.

"Any time." Sherlock smiled. John checked his watch.

"Oh, and I know you didn't want to make a big deal out of it- but it's now, officially Christmas. And we're going to Mycroft's with a few other people for lunch." He explained.

"John."

"Yes?"

"Sleep with one eye open tonight." Sherlock warned. John chuckled.

"Will do, Sherlock, will do. Just wait until you see the jumper I'm making you wear." John smirked.

"Oh dear lord."

* * *

**_A/N:_ Dun dun dunn... Christmas at Mycroft's :D**


	67. Pictionary

**__**

A/N: I can only apologise for not updating.

**There are so many distractions.**

**Anyway, I'm updating, be proud.**

**If you're bored, watch my video! (remove the spaces)**

**http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=AlsORugPqVE**

**Anyhow, please review and I'll make sure to update again soon!**

* * *

John was fairly certain he'd never seen a grown man throw a tantrum quite so big. Sherlock had actually lay on the floor and thrashed about until John phoned Lestrade.

"Sherlock, you're off cases for a month if you don't get up and put on that jumper." Greg bellowed over the smashing of one of John's many mugs, gesturing to the knitted green jumper with a reindeer on the chest.

"Don't care!" Sherlock replied.

"Get up now or I make it half a year!"

"Half a year?" Sherlock paused in his kicking of the sofa and looked up.

"I'm completely serious, Sherlock." Lestrade replied.

"No you're not."

"I'm making that nine months, Sherlock." Lestrade crossed his arms. Sherlock grunted and threw himself onto his feet.

"Fine, I'll go. Just don't blame me when half the guests die in mysterious circumstances." Sherlock muttered, grabbing the jumper and storming out the door.

"Thank you!" John cried, pulling Lestrade into a relieved hug. Greg chuckled and moved to hold the door open wider.

"C'mon, before we find out he's gone and taken a taxi somewhere we'll never find him." He smirked.

* * *

Sherlock stormed into Mycroft's house, having picked the lock before John could stagger up the driveway carrying a big bag full of presents. He navigated the rooms with ease and threw himself on the sofa, reaching up to grab a glass of wine someone had left on the mantle and down it in one gulp.

"That'd better not have been drugged." He warned everyone in the room before laying back and closing his eyes. John burst into the room and sighed.

"I'm so sorry." He apologised "He's been in a bad mood ever since I told him-"

"You were coming to my house." Mycroft interrupted with a chuckle. John shrugged.

"Sorry." He smiled, placing the bag of presents on the floor just as Harry launched herself across the room at him. John grinned and hugged his sister.

"What happened to you disliking me?" Harry smirked into his shoulder.

"I could ask you the same." John replied.

"Touché." Harry smirked as Mrs Holmes took over and hugged John.

"You know, those jumpers are adorable." Holly (who had named herself appropriately for the festive season) smirked. Sherlock sent her a glare.

"Mycroft sent them, actually." John smiled. Sherlock rolled over where he lay across the sofa and sent John a thunderous glare, before turning to Mycroft.

"I refuse to be manipulated by the two of you any longer." He stated, before standing and storming from the room.

"He'll get over it." Mycroft shrugged.

"This is a conspiracy!" Sherlock shouted.

"We'd better tell Greg he's onto us!" John stage-whispered to Mycroft.

Sherlock stalked into Mycroft's dining room about an hour later after smelling something that might have resembled food at some point in its existence. The party looked up, having forgotten his presence.

* * *

"Who's that?" Harry asked, smirking.

"Shut up." Sherlock replied. He sat down next to John, pulled out his phone and ignored everyone else.

"So, you say Sherlock used to run out of the house after a bath every night and run around in your garden naked until he was messy again?" Mrs Watson grinned. Sherlock's head snapped up.

"Mother?" He growled.

"I couldn't help it, dear." Mrs Holmes giggled, ever so slightly drunkenly.

"Who gave her sherry?" Sherlock asked ominously, glaring at everyone around the table, and then settling on Holly who shrugged.

"Why not? It's Christmas."

"What is so special about Christmas?" Sherlock snapped.

"It's a day to get mullered." Mrs Holmes cried enthusiastically. Harry snorted.

"Sounds like me last year." She grinned.

"Sounds like me every year." Mrs Watson replied.

"We need to go on a girly night out!" Mrs Holmes cried.

"Somebody kill us now." John groaned.

* * *

Dinner went without many problems, the only real one being that Sherlock had particularly good aim with Brussel Sprouts and a spoon. Mycroft ended up with a couple of gravy stains on his lapels, and John had one on his collar. Mrs Holmes had promptly passed out after the Christmas pudding.

"_Never_ let her drink again." Sherlock had warned.

The party then moved into the living room again to lounge around. It was Harry's idea for them to get the party games out.

Apparently, Mycroft was extremely flexible and just as competitive as Sherlock. After twenty minutes of Twister, they'd both resorted to rib-poking and tickling. Both slightly tipsy and wobbling, it had ended with John nudging them both over and getting thwacked.

Harry won the Monopoly, though, through ruthless tactics that John was very used to, and that made the Holmes brothers team up on her for the Pictionary.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Wasn't worth it, was it?**


	68. Unholy matrimony

**_A/N: _Oh, hi, it's me...**

**That person that's neglected you gor a very long time...**

**I'm very sorry. **

**Anyway, I decided to end the will they/won't they arguement as an apology?**

**Please review!**

* * *

John paused half way up the staircase, momentarily confused by the commotion coming from the flat. He then came to the obvious conclusion that Lestrade and his Police were in again. John supposed he should have brought more tea.

"Hullo John, love!" Mrs Hudson called from the bottom of the stairs, making her way up to meet him.

"Hello Mrs Hudson." John smiled, greeting her with a hug. "You're dressed up nicely. Going out?" He added.

"Not at all, dear. Staying in. I was just popping up to see if you were back yet, actually." Mrs Hudson beamed.

"Why's that?"

"Oh, nothing really. I'm coming into your flat anyway, so shall we?" Mrs Hudson smiled, looping her arm through John's free one and pulling him into motion.

A piece of paper lay on the coffee table. John frowned, detached himself from Mrs Hudson and observed it. It was an envelope addressed to:

_John- but then, who else would this be addressed to?_

Mrs Hudson peeked over John's shoulder.

"I told him not to-"

"Told who?" John asked. Mrs Hudson blushed.

"Nobody, dear." She murmured. John frowned, but opened the envelope and pulled out the thick, expensive letter from within.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I have no clue, love." Mrs Hudson lied. John frowned again and turned back to the letter.

_You know that I physically could never force myself to do this by person. _

_Also, blame a ruthless combination of your mother, my mother and Mrs Hudson for this._

_John, _

_You know I love you._

_You aren't that foolish._

_So, _

_Would you do me the honour-_

_Honestly, this is so mundane-_

_Would you do me the honour of joining me in the most unholy of matrimonies?_

_Yes, John. I can see the look of confusion on your face._

_It suits you well._

_But yes, I did just ask you to marry me._

_Well, I say marry._

_How does Mrs Hudson as the priest- or whatever we should use, seeing as I doubt any religious person would agree with me calling her the priest- sound? _

_By the way,_

_Turn around._

_-SH x_

John turned and found Sherlock leaning against the back of the sofa, watching attentively.

"Well?" Sherlock rumbled. John gaped.

"Are you serious?" He asked.

"When am I not?" Sherlock asked, standing. John's eyebrows rose as he noticed that Sherlock was in a full three-piece suit.

"Hm." John shrugged.

"Well?" Sherlock repeated.

"Christ, Sherlock! That's a pretty big decision you're asking me to make." John replied.

"Ooh, go on dear!" Mrs Hudson cooed. John sent her a look.

"There is a good deal of people waiting on your answer, John." Sherlock murmured.

"What?"

"Don't worry yourself. Please answer the question." Sherlock replied hastily.

"Mrs Hudson would… Conduct our… Civil Partnership?" John asked, picking the most politically correct terms he could.

"Yes."

"Wow. I- uh. Well, yes, I suppose." John mused. Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant!" Mrs Hudson cried.

There was a strange noise from Sherlock's room.

"Oh. You can come out now." Sherlock called. A mass of bodies exploded from the room, gasping for air.

"It's been two hours, John! How long do you need to go to the bloody shop?" Lestrade cried, "Oh, and congrats, mate."

Lestrade, Mycroft (looking utterly put-out), Mrs Holmes, Mrs and Mr Watson, Harry and Loretta (on her Blackberry, as usual) all filed into the room and grinned.

"So what happens now?" Harry asked.

"This." Sherlock replied, pulling a ring box from his pocket. "You know, John, you've been wearing your ring for a while now, so I brought you this."

John opened the box.

Inside was a dog-tag, matching the one that John had given Sherlock exactly. Except that it had the name Sherlock Holmes on it, and the rank of Consulting Detective. John laughed, and pulled Sherlock into a hug.

"You're bloody amazing, you know that, right?" John murmured.

"Of course I do. You're quite alright too." Sherlock teased quietly.

"Shall we?" Mrs Hudson interrupted excitedly. John chuckled and removed his face from the lapels of Sherlock's jacket.

"Do you, John Watson, take Sherlock Holmes…? Actually, I don't know how to do this. Um, John, dear, do you want to be Sherlock's… Civil partner?" Mrs Hudson smiled.

"Of course I do." John replied.

"And Sherlock Sherri-"

"Don't go there." Sherlock warned. Harry giggled.

"Do you, Sherlock Holmes, want to be John's civil partner?" Mrs Hudson repeated.

"I do indeed." Sherlock nodded.

"You may now kiss the- uh-"

"John's the bride!" Harry called. John flicked her the 'V' and pulled Sherlock by the lapels into a quick kiss, grinning as Sherlock threaded his hands through John's hair. Sherlock broke away with a wink.

"Is that it?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know what else to do." Mrs Hudson shrugged.

"How about a beer?" John asked.

* * *

**_A/N:_ So, was it worth the wait? No, of course not. But there you go.**


	69. Married to my blogger

**_A/N: _Hello, guys. I'm sad to say that this will be the final chapter of The Science of Deduction.**

**But there you go.**

**I hope you've liked it!**

**Please give me one final review? :D**

**By the way, thank you, all of you that didn't get too bored of my crap!**

* * *

John leant against the counter with a content smile on his face. Sherlock was just seeing Mycroft out the door. The flat was empty, it was late and John had had a lovely evening. Allowing his eyes to close for a moment, John remembered an old conversation with Sherlock. Smirking, John opened his eyes again to see Sherlock standing before him.

"Something interesting?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged.

"Not for you, probably," he replied.

"Care to tell me what I won't find interesting?" Sherlock asked.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John smirked. Sherlock's lips twitched.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Oh right then. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way-"

"I know it's fine."

"So you've got a boyfriend?" John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock smirked.

"No."

"Right, okay. You're unattached, just like me. Fine. Good," John replied.

"John, erm... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my blogger and while I am flattered by your interest I'm really not looking for anyone," Sherlock replied, moving forward with every word.

"No. I'm not asking. I was just saying. It's all fine," John chuckled.

"Good. Thank you," Sherlock whispered into John's ear. John shivered and smirked, pulling Sherlock by the waist into his arms. Sherlock chuckled.

"We're married, Sherlock," John stated.

"Not _really_."

"It's good enough for me," John shrugged. Sherlock pulled away a little to press his forehead to John's.

"I'm glad. That was the plan," Sherlock replied.

"Thank you," John smiled.

"For what?" Sherlock asked. John didn't reply- he simply moved his lips down to Sherlock's and kissed him gently. Sherlock's hand grasped John's and they pulled each other closer. There was a small tinkle as their dog-tags twined together, but neither man noticed, far too occupied in what they were doing.

* * *

**_A/N:_ Well, that's it! Cheesy ending and all! **

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**


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